Envy
by kittytrypsin
Summary: Envy eats at you until all you can think of is to look for vengeance on those you feel have wronged you. Team Sheppard, Carson, Lorne, Elizabeth and widespread whumping. 'Deadly sins' series.
1. Chapter 1

Part of the 'deadly sins' series. This is a stand-alone story and the previous entry, _Lust,_ doesn't need to be read but naturally I'd be delighted if you did.

Definition:a desire for something someone else possesses.

Disclaimer:sadly I don't own these lovely people apart from the OCs and no-one wants to claim _them. _No profit is made from these ramblings and this is purely for the amusement of the author and anyone else who finds it mildly entertaining.

Spoilers:Set in series three with some references to '_Common ground'._

Team Sheppard, Carson, Lorne, Elizabeth and with widespread whumpage but, naturally, also to Sheppard, (shock, NO!) 'cos he's my favourite.

All comments, critical or encouraging, are welcome but please remember that I am not a professional writer and that this is just for fun.

**_ENVY_**

_**Chapter One**_

"I'm sorry, lad, but I cannae just keep on trying. I told ye at the start that the success rate was around 45 percent and against ma better judgement I tried a second time with ye but ye have tae accept that it's nae going tae work."

Rodney McKay walked in to the infirmary clutching his injured hand just in time to hear the tail end of Carson Beckett's conversation with one of the latest grunts to step off the _Daedalus_. It no doubt was something the bone-head was demanding as only they could and Beckett was trying to fob him off as tactfully as possible.

Well, as tactfully as a sheepherding, kilt-swinging highland voodoo practitioner knew how to.

McKay waggled his uninjured hand as Carson looked in his direction.

"Be with ye in a wee minute, Rodney." He turned back to the man beside him. "Now, son, ye'll just have tae accept that it isnae going tae take, no matter how many times I try. Be content that it did nae harm trying it more than once."

He took the marine firmly by his shoulders and turned him in the direction of the infirmary doors just as they opened to admit Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, military commander of their base.

Sheppard regarded the marine as the man brushed past him with a barely regulation salute before looking at Beckett who stood with his arms akimbo and a frustrated expression on his face.

"Problems, Doc?"

"Och, hello Colonel. Problems? I hope not. Corporal Flynn was just receiving word that the ATA gene therapy didnae take with him in spite of trying twice, and he's nae too happy about it."

He scratched his head making his hair stand up in close resemblance to that of the colonel's.

"I think the lad's going tae take a wee while tae get over this. He seems cross that it failed. I wouldnae be surprised if he's a bit resentful of those who do have it."

"Is it likely to cause trouble?"

"I dinnae know the lad so I cannae say but if he disnae simmer down I'd think he wasnae maybe suited tae being out here. But that's a military decision and I wouldnae dare tae tell ye how tae do your job, unlike some I could mention." He cast a glance at the hovering astrophysicist and John got the idea. "Now, was there something ye needed, Colonel?"

John opened his mouth in response to the question only to have McKay interrupt.

"Excuse me...injured Chief Scientist here," he waggled his bruised finger as he spoke, wincing dramatically. "And correct me if I'm wrong, which of course I'm _not_, but I do believe _I_ was first!"

John and Carson shared rolled eyes as the doctor turned to examine the offending article which was being thrust under his nose.

"Aye, Rodney, that's going tae need drained."

"What?" Rodney snatched his digit back as if Carson was brandishing pruning shears. "What do you mean drained? I thought you'd just x-ray it to make sure I haven't broken it, and maybe put a splint on it. Perhaps a sling, some extra-strong painkillers and send me on my merry way. Nothing about draining it!"

"Aye, I'll x-ray it first but if I dinnae drain it ye'll lose your fingernail. I'm certain you'd rather not go through the long process of growing another just because of a few seconds of pain."

"Pain!?" McKay's voice reached for the upper stratosphere, a feat that John suspected was in danger of doing him more mischief than his injured finger.

He stepped up to support McKay as he suddenly wobbled on unsteady legs. Rodney wasn't the coward he'd been when he first stepped through the naquadah doughnut three years ago but he still wasn't all that keen on pain, especially when it was inflicted upon his own personage.

"Dinnae be a baby, Rodney, it'll all be over in a wee minute. Now, let's get that x-rayed and I'll get ma equipment ready." Carson beckoned a nurse over. "Carla, be a dear and take Dr McKay and get this hand screened for fracture of his distal phalanx, thanks."

Carla took the still unsteady physicist by the elbow and steered him in the direction of the scanner, a steady whine of protest coming from McKay as his injured finger throbbed with every step he was forced to take.

"I'm in excruciating pain, here. Couldn't you at least have offered me a wheelchair?"

Carson turned back to the man still standing beside him and gave him a quick appraisal.

"Is there anything I can do for ye, Colonel? It's not often you're here without having tae be brought under duress."

John chose not to rise to the bait. He knew he was a reluctant patient at the best of times but he didn't think he was as bad as Carson often painted him.

"Zelenka passed me in the corridor and told me Rodney had injured his hand in the lab so I thought I'd pop in and see what the damage was. What did you mean by draining? His fingernail just looks bruised to me, like any time I've caught mine in the catch of the P90."

"Aye, and I'll bet ye never got it drained and instead put up with days of pain and throbbing, right? Maybe even lost a nail for your troubles?"

Sheppard nodded.

Carson shook his head sadly at the stupidity the world often presented to him.

"If only people would come tae those who know what they're doin', it would be better all round. Walk with me whilst I get ready for Rodney's procedure. It's very basic but extremely effective. By releasing the blood under his nail it relieves the pressure, reduces the throbbing and saves the nail. The medical name for the procedure's a controlled nail trephination for subungual haematoma, but ye dinnae have tae remember that."

John watched in some confusion as Carson produced a small alcohol burner, a lighter and what looked to all intents and purposes like a paper clip.

He was on the point of asking Carson to explain the assorted gadgets when Rodney was led back, protesting every movement of his throbbing digit. Carla reported that his finger was intact.

"No thanks to you," McKay called out ungraciously but Carla was well used to her patient's charming ways and merely grinned before moving off.

Carson steered him to where he wanted him positioned.

"Sit here, lad. Colonel, if you're staying ye can help keep him still. It's important not tae move, Rodney, so just sit there and rest your hand on the trolley."

"What? Aren't you giving me any sedation, or an anaesthetic? What sort of animal husbandry is this? I'll have you know I _need_ this finger, it's a very important part of my very important person."

"And it'll be over afore I could even administer sedation, so let's not have any more whining, Rodney. D'ye see Corporal Mason over there with a broken leg? He didnae make this much noise when he was admitted. Colonel, are ye staying or not?"

John wasn't so sure he wanted to witness the procedure but he could see how worked up his friend was getting so he swallowed his automatic refusal and gave Rodney a reassuring smile.

"Sure, I'll hold him down, Carson, otherwise he's likely to bolt."

"Thanks," Rodney snarled through clenched teeth, but in truth he was glad Sheppard was there.

Not that he didn't trust Carson to know what he was doing, although he'd hesitate to tell him that. After all, a man's ego could only take _so_ much bolstering. But if anything went wrong and his family needed to be contacted, Jeannie and Sheppard had built up a rapport during her visit. It would be small comfort to hear the news of the loss of her dear, clever brother from a friend, but still...

He sat timorously at the designated trolley and laid his hand palm downwards on the trolley but if Sheppard hadn't already placed his hands on his shoulders he would definitely have bolted as he watched Carson straighten the paper clip, light the burner and place the tip of the paper clip into the flame until it turned red hot.

"Just what are you planning, Carson?" he all but whimpered as he watched Beckett's actions.

"I just need to get this red hot and then I'll be ready for ye, Rodney. Now, you're doing just fine. Relax and it'll be over in seconds. Some people go the whole hog and use highfalutin' drills but see this wee paperclip," he held up the now glowing object, "this'll do just fine."

"Drills!?" Rodney shrieked, once again trying to jerk his hand back. "You're not building a patio."

"Dinnae be such a big bairn, and I'm nae going to use a drill. Honestly, just trust me for once." Carson was getting a little exasperated.

"I do trust you," Rodney muttered quietly, but still not happy.

He tried to pull away as the suddenly molten red tip of the implement of torture hovered closer and closer to his throbbing appendage but Sheppard had shifted his grip to Rodney's forearm and was holding him down mercilessly.

"No, no, lemme go!" he shouted a final, desperate act of objecting, but his cries fell on deaf ears.

He'd have to think long and hard on what revenge he'd take on these two sadists as they continued with their torture.

Carson wasted no time, knowing all too well the mettle of the man he was ministering to. He touched the fiery tip to the darkened fingernail and watched with satisfaction as it seared through the keratin and released the dark blood in a sudden spurt.

McKay screamed in pain and fright as he watched the paper clip pierce his fingernail and felt Sheppard's grip tighten in response to his reflexive movement away from the torture.

"Easy, now, nearly finished," he dimly heard but he'd decided he'd been stoic for long enough.

Where was that personal shield when he needed it?

Sheppard caught him as he fainted and Carson tut-tutted as he waved two orderlies over to lift the unconscious man onto a gurney.

Sheppard stepped away from the trolley he'd been holding his friend down onto and took several deep breaths before moving to the gurney.

"Is he okay, Carson?"

"Aye, just a faint. It's quite common and I should have expected it, I suppose. The pain is short and sharp but the relief is worth it." He took a look at the soldier who was looking slightly green about the gills. "Are _ye_ okay, Colonel?"

"Yeah, but the next time I get my finger caught in the P90 just don't expect me to come to you for _that!_"

"You're a pair of big bairns," Carson chuckled fondly.

It amazed him that this man could take bullets, beatings and assorted bugs/viruses and never moan but something like this had robbed his face of its natural colour.

McKay moaned and tossed his head slightly as he recovered his senses. He blinked several times and found Carson and Sheppard grinning down at him.

"What happened?" he demanded.

Carson and John shared a grin before the colonel spoke.

"I guess you fainted, McKay. _Again."_

TBC – reviews would be lovely.

_A.N. _When I was in the ER I witnessed this procedure as described many times and it was usually strong builders/workmen who hit the deck as soon as the pain hit, weaker mere women managing to tolerate it much better. Having said that, this mere mortal refused to let anyone do it to _her_ when she rapped her thumb nail with a wooden mallet, and subsequently lost the nail!

Ouch! You have been warned. Visit the ER immediately:D


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to those who have left reviews, and thanks, too, to the kind people who have selected either a story or author alert. I'm honoured.

_Chapter Two_

Corporal Barry Flynn was more than a little peeved. He'd come to the Pegasus galaxy with the idealistic dream of being a successful recipient of Beckett's famed gene therapy so that he could operate all the cool ancient tech he'd read about in mission reports back at the SGC.

The fact that the therapy hadn't worked for everyone was common knowledge but he was smug enough to assume it would take first time with him. After all, he considered himself in the best of health, at peak physical condition, and there should be no reason for the treatment to fail. He was just the sort of man the doc would be looking for.

He was therefore astonished and more than a little angry when the doctor's first attempt had failed and against Beckett's better judgement he'd convinced him to try again.

As he strode angrily from the infirmary, barely managing to toss a salute at Colonel Sheppard, he'd been almost incandescent with rage. Obviously the doctor had done something wrong for the therapy to have failed. Despite the word that Beckett was a genius in his own field, clearly he was starting to lose it.

Flynn had bragged to so many of his fellow marines about how he'd be flying a jumper, maybe even piloting his own away team on daring missions to rival those of the flagship team, and now he was going to have to eat a huge helping of humble pie.

He could almost see the scorn and derision his so-called friends would direct at him and with retrospect he realised if he hadn't bragged quite so openly things might have been better.

Even so, he was an angry man and his temper wouldn't be easily quieted by the small voice of reason. He pushed it to the back of his mind and told it to shut up as he contemplated what he should do next.

Major Lorne walked towards him as he made his way back to his quarters and Flynn almost hoped the man would move on past without speaking, but his luck just wasn't holding that day. It wasn't that Flynn had had time yet to develop any antipathy towards the Air Force major but the fact that the man possessed the ATA gene was enough to put him in the newly-formed enemy camp as far as the disgruntled corporal was concerned.

"Corporal, how did it go with the doc?"

Flynn cringed mentally at the very question he'd hoped not to have to answer...for about a millennium. He eyed the major and considered his response.

Evan Lorne had been one of the lucky ones to have been given the therapy before leaving Earth and he could still remember the thrill he'd felt as he realised what a gift this would be in the strange new world they found themselves in. Being able to operate ancient equipment gave them a tactical advantage over those they regularly butted heads with in this screwed up part of the universe.

Flynn wasn't quite ready to confess his failure so he did his best to gloss over the question.

"Probably too soon to tell, Major. Doc says to give it a chance. So, where are you off to?"

Lorne's brows rose at the impudence of the unexpected question. This man was still a raw recruit as far as Atlantis was concerned.

Too many of the new arrivals stepped off the _Daedalus_ full of experience from either battle arenas on Earth, or even having taken on the Ori with the SGC. But out here, as the colonel never failed to brief them on first meeting them...out here, none of that was worth a dime. The rule book had to be re-written and it was yet to be proven that the Wraith could _read_, anyway. That comment never failed to raise a chuckle from the newbies but only a wry smile from the old hands. Literacy skills, or lack of, amongst the Wraith was the least of their problems.

Flynn wasn't on the roster for off-world trips yet but the major knew what it was like for the new arrivals. They would have spent the long flight from Earth hearing about the exciting times some of the away teams managed to have and itching to get into the action. Some lucky ones who showed early aptitude would be assigned training skirmishes whilst those stuck at base seemed to pull nothing more exciting than gate room guard duty or the assignment from hell, inventory.

He looked the marine over from tip to toe and pondered his next move. The lad was obviously fretting over something and Lorne suddenly had clarity of insight that the gene therapy hadn't worked after all.

He could remember so clearly the first time he'd activated ancient technology and the thrill he'd felt at the ability to use the strange and sometimes wonderful stuff they found. To not have that ability would have been like losing a promotion, your career stymied simply because of a genetic defect.

"If the colonel hasn't rostered you for anything else you can come with my team for a reconnaissance mission to P3X 247. Reports of an ancient ruin may well prove unfounded but that's our bread and butter, Corporal, nothing more exciting than going and finding out. The nice, easy milk runs are few enough out here so we take the down time when we get it."

Flynn heard the word _mission_ and tuned out anything else Lorne was rambling on about. He was quick to volunteer the information sure to get him on the major's team.

"I saw the colonel in the infirmary with his pet scientist, McKay. Looked like he was getting ready to hold the man's hand. I don't know why the colonel puts up with such a whining civilian on his team."

"You'd do well to keep your thoughts to yourself, Corporal," Lorne reprimanded. "Like it or not, this is also a scientific expedition and Doc McKay is the head of the science department. Besides, he's proved himself more times than not; it just takes a while to get used to him. And if the colonel thinks highly enough of him to have him on his team you'd be advised not to question him. Unless you'd like me to tell the colonel you have something to say about his leadership qualities?"

Flynn fumed silently at the rebuke. He didn't think he'd said anything to warrant it. After all, McKay's reputation as a windbag was well talked about in the squad room and he'd thought he was on safe ground mentioning something he thought sure the major would have grinned about.

If Lorne didn't watch his step he'd find that Flynn could be someone he didn't want to cross.

He shook his head resentfully but suddenly realised his actions and attitude could prove problematic so he straightened and smiled at the officer.

"That won't be necessary, sir. I'm sure the colonel has very good reasons for his decisions and doesn't need the likes of me telling him what to do. And I'd be more than happy to join you, sir." Suddenly he was the poster child for Marine Recruitment. "I'll just go and gear up. Are we going on foot or by jumper?"

Lorne pondered the shift in the marine's personality. He sometimes wondered about the level of psych screening at the SGC before sending these kids out here. Fighting the sort of monsters that would feature in the stuff of nightmares wasn't something that everyone could cope with.

He inspected the soldier carefully, wondering if he should just send the kid back to the squad room to lick his wounds for a while. But he couldn't fail to see the hope in the younger man's eyes: it never got old travelling in the ancients' flying ships and this would be Flynn's first experience.

Against his gut instinct he made his decision.

"Be in the jumper bay in ten, Corporal, or we go without you."

00oo00

Sheppard never really felt he was off duty even though he had complete confidence in Evan Lorne so when his XO was off base Sheppard kept himself close to the gate room and command centre.

He had an office around here somewhere but he seldom used it except when he wanted to make himself unavailable, and the last time he'd checked, it had been over-run by dust bunnies.

Lorne's scouting mission had reported back about 30 minutes ago that they'd found a few artefacts and were bringing them back but otherwise the trip had been unexciting and totally uneventful, just the sort of report Sheppard was glad to receive.

They'd had a few hectic weeks of constantly running into trouble on even seemingly innocent scouting missions and he himself wasn't that long back on active service after a mishap.

So it was with some surprise that he met Lorne limping heavily as he made his way from jumper bay to infirmary for his post-mission check-up.

He stepped up beside the shorter man and matched his slower pace.

"Care to fill me in and save me from having to read your report, Major?"

He carefully inspected his second-in-command but apart from the limp he didn't seem to be badly hurt. Of course, he'd wait for Beckett's final report but it looked like Lorne wouldn't be off the roster. Or maybe he could persuade the doc that Lorne needed to do some desk duty for a while. _He_ could handle the dust bunnies.

Lorne sighed and rubbed at his eyes with a grubby hand. "Nothing serious, Colonel, probably just bruised toes. It was such a simple accident and it could have happened to anyone. In fact, it's a surprise something similar hasn't happened before to your...er...that is..."

He suddenly thought better of completing his sentence when he realised he was about to call his commander's team accident-prone. Just because they _were_ didn't mean he had to point it out.

John just grinned. "So, bearing in mind that this happened to _you,_ care to go on?"

Lorne accepted the let-off gratefully. "We'd loaded up a crate of ancient doodads and some of those etched stones we've found the last trip we took. Two of the marines were lifting it to start making their way back to the jumper when one of the men lost his grip. It was my bad luck to be standing too close to them as they passed and it landed on my foot. Thank God for regulation footwear. The weight in that crate would have done serious damage if I hadn't been wearing my boots."

John thought it most unlikely that the XO had been crowding his team. Lorne was respected and well-liked amongst the men and his orders were seldom, if ever, questioned. Still, if he was insisting that it was an accident, John had more than enough paperwork on his desk without begging for more.

Elizabeth was insisting that he show the dust bunnies who was master and reclaim his office. The only problem with that, as far as John could see, was that the dust bunnies knew _exactly_ who was master, and it wasn't him!

He stopped and faced Lorne.

"Okay, Major, it's your call. Get Beckett to check you out and let me know if you need taken off the active list. I'll leave it to you to talk to your men about being more careful around the stuff we find. If any of the equipment in that crate had been unstable or explosive, you could have lost your foot or worse instead of just getting bruised. We've enough enemies in this screwed-up galaxy without starting to attack each other."

TBC – reviews would be most gratefully received.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks again to you lovely reviewers and those who want more. I can promise there will _eventually_ be some Shep-whump but you'll have to be patient. There are a few others to get whumped first:D

_Chapter three_

Teyla enjoyed every opportunity to go to the mainland and visit with her people. As Athosian leader she'd had to make a monumental decision as to whether to stay with her own race or fight against the Wraith with her new allies.

Her life as part of the flagship team was never dull but sometimes she longed for a little down-time, as John called it, time to spend with Halling and Jinto and the others, and just catch up with the latest developments with what remained of their people. She always felt spiritually recharged once she returned, especially after spending some time with Charin, the old woman she had thought of as a grandmother. Her loss still pained Teyla greatly.

As she made her way through the control room she saw her team-mates in Dr Weir's office. Rodney's injured finger had healed in spite of his certainty that Doctor Beckett had maimed him for life and he and John were involved in discussions with Elizabeth and Dr Zelenka about information in the database that could lead to the elusive ZPMs they constantly sought.

She'd already spoken to the colonel about spending some time off base and he'd given his consent and offered her Gunnery Sergeant Williams to fly her to the mainland. She could tell that he dearly wanted to do the piloting himself but Elizabeth had already scheduled the meeting and he couldn't get out of it.

Several other marines were going along too, to bring back some crops Halling had promised them.

"_There will be plenty of opportunity for you to visit with Jinto and the other children, John," she'd teased him at the time of their conversation. "They speak often of the tales you told them of Freddie Kruger when we first arrived in the city of the Ancients. Your friendliness was a great help in making us feel welcome."_

Walking past the office she waved John, Elizabeth and the scientists a cheery goodbye as she headed for the jumper bay, all thoughts of problems firmly at the back of her mind.

Sheppard watched her go with a degree of envy. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy being military commander, a fact that constantly amazed him because his father would be the first to point out that John Sheppard had always gone out of his way to avoid responsibility, opting for the Air Force instead of taking his rightful place on the Board of Sheppard Enterprises.

No, it was just that sometimes he longed to do nothing more demanding than play a game of soccer with Jinto and the other kids and leave his P90 at home, even if Teyla _had_ taken a disrespectful amount of enjoyment out of teasing him. He'd have to have a word with his team mates about discipline and proper respect. _Oh yeah, he could see that going well._

"Colonel, are we keeping you from something?" Elizabeth Weir imagined her military commander's mind wool-gathering and gently chided him.

John grinned sheepishly and slouched further in his chair. "Nope, nothing I'd rather be doing than sitting here with you doctors," he indicated the assembled people with a lazy hand, "looking for needles in haystacks."

"That needle in a haystack is the only thing that keeps our shield working, Sheppard," McKay retorted waspishly, but he couldn't really blame the man; the thought of a little relaxation on the mainland was also appealing to him and he too was a little envious of Teyla's trip.

Even though it would have meant closer contact to children than he was strictly comfortable with.

"Okay, gentlemen, let's get back to the task in hand and then maybe you'll have time for a trip in your own jumper."

00oo00

Elizabeth had never been given to prophesy before so it was a little spooky to find her words coming true.

The call had come through about five hours later from Teyla requesting that a second jumper come to the mainland. John had been quick to respond on the radio even though he'd been in the gym having his pride seriously dented and skinny hide, as Carson and McKay took delight in referring to his posterior, repeatedly pounded into the mat by Ronon Dex. (Minds out of the gutter, please!)

"Teyla, it's Sheppard. What's the situation? Are you in trouble?"

He was almost glad of the interruption. There was only so much his pride could take and he had yet to better Ronan at any physical activity except for that unforgettable time he'd gone all buggy on them. The less time he dwelt on that particular nightmare, the better for his already dubious sanity.

"We are well, John. There is no danger except that Sergeant Williams has had an unfortunate accident and is unconscious and we need a ride home."

John's eyebrows disappeared into his fringe, no mean feat on their part considering the current state of said fringe, sticking straight up in the air after he's swiped his towel over his face.

The expedition wasn't usually this unlucky with accidents. It seemed they'd developed a high level of clumsiness of late. He wiped his face and neck again and fingered the radio.

"Give me a few minutes to get changed and I'll bring a team out. Does Williams need Beckett?"

"I believe it might be advisable, Colonel. He has not yet regained consciousness and has quite a lump on his forehead."

"Okay, sit tight and we'll be with you shortly." He disconnected his link with her and called Beckett. "Doc, grab your away kit and meet me in the jumper bay in five minutes. One of the away team's been knocked out and we're flying out to bring them back."

He connected next to another marine who could travel with them to fly jumper four home.

Carson was waiting for them when John and Ronon arrived, changed into full BDUs and armaments.

"Are we expecting trouble, Colonel?" Carson looked at the men dressed for battle with some trepidation.

"It never hurts to expect the worst. We don't know how Williams got hurt although Teyla said they were all fine. Still, we'd look pretty silly walking into an ambush. Grab a seat, we're off as soon as I finish the pre-flight."

Ronan grabbed the seat behind the co-pilot's chair leaving it free for the doctor who smiled at him in gratitude.

Carson wasn't the most comfortable with ancient technology even though he had the natural gene, and flying was definitely not one of his favourite activities. Facing the way they were travelling helped a little plus the fact that the two rows of front seats had arm rests. There was no way he was travelling in the rear compartment with just a bench to sit on.

Oh, he had heard Rodney McKay's lecture time enough about inertial dampeners in these_ babies_ but he still felt a soupcon of travel sickness when he stepped aboard.

Two marines joined them, the rear access ramp closed with a gentle hum and Carson tried to settle himself for the short flight.

00oo00

Teyla heard the distinctive whine of the jumper's engines and searched the darkening sky for the ship before seeing it head in their direction. She'd been in contact with the colonel and knew they were minutes away.

Sergeant Williams had come round, lost his lunch and settled into a restless doze with her rousing him every few minutes to keep him conscious. The marines who'd travelled with her had insisted on setting up a perimeter check even though she'd assured them they were safe amongst friends. She didn't know either of these men but recognised their inherent need to follow protocol so she hadn't made a fuss.

The colonel, Ronon, Doctor Beckett and the marine escort made their way towards her and she rose from beside the fallen man to greet them warmly.

"John, it is good to see you." She turned to Beckett. "Sergeant Williams is recovered but still quite dizzy and disorientated, Carson. He was ill on regaining consciousness but has not been sick since then."

"Good lass. Okay, lad, let's take a look at ye." Carson moved purposefully towards his patient and Teyla moved away to talk to John and Ronan.

"So, what happened?"

"I did not see the incident, John. The sergeant was with one of the others when he reportedly cried out and fell. I did not feel it was my place to question the marine and instead left that to you."

John nodded in appreciation. They had to maintain the chain of command and military routines even though they were very far from home. Nothing eroded discipline quicker than allowing slip-shod practises to sneak in. Not that he was too hot on following orders, himself, but he had to set some sort of example.

He turned to address the young marine who was coming to attention before him.

"Corporal Roberts, what happened here?"

"Sorry, sir, I didn't see it. I was with Teyla and some of the kids. They were showing me where they'd stacked the food we were to bring back and Sergeant Williams had gone back to the jumper to get the sacks. Flynn was with him and the gunny was giving him a bit of a ribbing for having forgotten the sacks in the first place. Flynn came running back to say the gunny had hit his head and he couldn't rouse him. Teyla reached him first and contacted Atlantis straight away. The rest you probably know by now."

It all sounded perfectly innocent and John waited as patiently as he could for Flynn to come back from checking his side of their perimeter. He'd responded promptly to John's order that he return and was soon standing to attention before his commanding officer.

"Sir!"

"At ease, Corporal. I just need you to fill in the gaps. What exactly did Williams hit his head on?"

"Just the ground, sir. He seemed to lose his footing; whether he tripped or not, I couldn't say, but before he could break his fall with his hands he landed face down and struck the ground full force with his forehead. I've never seen a duck egg like it, sir. I checked the area but there didn't seem to be any hidden rocks, just hard-packed earth. Sir, is the sergeant going to be okay?"

John looked over his shoulder to where Carson was instructing getting his patient transferred to a stretcher for the start of the journey to the jumper. Williams had roused and was mumbling answers but the physician didn't seem unduly concerned about his patient's condition.

"Looks like it, Flynn. Okay, I need you to write this up when you get back. Don't leave anything out and we'll get Williams to corroborate it when he's able. Lend a hand there to get things moving."

Ronon had watched the proceedings and listened without interrupting and John sensed the big guy was brewing up to what would probably be a scathing comment.

"Why don't you just get it said? You're likely to bust something trying to keep a lid on it."

Dex grinned his feral grin and slapped his team leader sharply on the shoulder, the same shoulder he'd been battering away at earlier in the gym, and Sheppard tried to hide a wince.

"At this rate you'll not have to worry about the Wraith killing you. You're managing to take yourselves out!"

TBC – reviews would be lovely.


	4. Chapter 4

A slightly longer chapter to make up for not posting yesterday. Some Rodney-whump and Shep-caring ahead.

_Chapter Four_

The next unfortunate victim of the seemingly unconnected accidents was one very vocal, totally pissed Doctor Meredith Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD, Astrophysicist and self-proclaimed Resident Genius.

John heard about the incident courtesy of his radio but really, Rodney had been making such a racket he'd hardly needed the assistance of telecommunication.

McKay had been working on some of the artefacts Lorne's mission had retrieved and the etched stones were proving heavier to move than he had expected.

Being the genius that he frequently reminded people he was, he quickly worked out that the solution to the problem was a matter of physics: _stone too heavy for scientist to strain himself over, ergo, get a marine to do the donkey work_. He had corralled the first marine he'd come across, one who just happened to be lurking outside his lab, or so it seemed.

For a moment he wondered why the man seemed vaguely familiar but he quickly dismissed the thought as unimportant. For all he knew or cared, the Military might have started to clone their grunts and they were all starting to look the same. After all, they _shared_ one brain cell, so why not the same face, too?

He press-ganged the marine into being his mule for the next half hour, ordering him to move that piece, '_no, not there you idiot!'_ and lift that other piece, '_I'm surrounded by incompetent morons!'_ before the man seemed to simply move clumsily against the edge of the work counter, sending an as yet untested doodad heading towards the floor with consummate ease.

McKay yelped in surprise and a mixture of horror of unknown results pending, and showed an impressive display of speed as he lunged at the device, thinking '_no, no, don't break or turn on'_. Sadly, by merely thinking _on_ he had the same effect and actually activated it.

As he made contact with both the artefact and the floor, he rather disconcertingly found the room whirling and dipping dizzily and the edges of his vision greying out.

He came to some moments later to find himself clutching the doodad that was now red hot, searing his palms and humming alarmingly. The marine whose name he'd never bothered to ask was giving him a very strange look. He had to actually prompt the bone-head into doing something other than gawping at him.

"Don't just stand there with both arms the one length, you complete waste of space. Call for medical help, I'm in agony!"

If it hadn't been for what McKay later admitted was the timely arrival of Radek Zelenka and his cloud of hair Rodney might well have suffered irreparable burns to his hands.

Zelenka had taken in the scene in a nanosecond and grabbed a pair of heavy duty insulated gloves before retrieving the activated device from McKay's _rigor mortis_-like grip.

He set the device well away from accidental contact and turned his attention to the injured man.

"Rodney...Rodney, let me see your hands."

He had to take McKay's chin in his gentle grip to bring the man's attention away from the sight and pain of his burned hands.

Slowly McKay rolled his hands over to bring them palm upwards and both men winced at the angry marks. If Zelenka hadn't managed to remove the artefact when he had done, the damage would have been much worse.

Rodney's eyes were glazing over and his colour was fading fast.

Radek could see that his friend was in a great deal of pain. He looked up to see the same marine standing where he'd first seen him.

"Did you call the infirmary, Corporal?"

"Er...sorry, sir, I'll do it now." He moved off slightly to place the call for medical assistance to the science labs and the other men could hear the response and questions as to the nature of the medical emergency.

"Idiot!" Rodney muttered and Radek wasn't too sure who he was insulting.

However, the fact that Rodney was coherent enough to be hurling insults was, as far as Radek could assess, probably a good thing.

Rodney sat on the floor with his knees drawn towards his chest and rested his wrists on them, allowing his throbbing hands to dangle. He looked around him with a whimper of pain and more than a touch of asperity at the level of incompetence of the grunts they were dependent upon to keep them alive. Could that stupid marine not have seen the damage the device was doing and actually _do_ something useful instead of standing staring at him?

Carson and his team made it to the lab before John and Ronon only because the two soldiers had been further away. They'd raced towards the nearest transporter as soon as the call had been broadcast.

Rodney was already having his hands daubed generously with burn salve and placed inside protective burns gloves by the time they arrived and John took time to inspect the room and note the people present: Rodney, Zelenka, Carson and his medical team and one of his own men.

He'd have to hear the report to know why a marine was in the science lab but for now he needed to see to his friend and team mate.

He knelt before McKay whose forehead was beaded with sweat, face pale and pinched in pain.

"Hey buddy, you'll be fine. Take it easy and let the doc get you sorted."

Rodney wanted to fire back a witty retort that Sheppard knew next to nothing about medicine apart from the far-too-frequent occasions he was a recipient of it. But all of his replies had been consumed with the fire in his hands. He made do with a grimace and small nod as he tried to focus on Sheppard's face looming over him.

Someone else was there, and he squinted to see who it was...oh, yes...Ronon, good old dependable man-mountain Conan.

Then Ronon shifted slightly to the right and Rodney caught a glimpse of the other soldier in the room, the one who'd been so damned slow in realising he was in danger. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the face of the marine change rapidly back from smug satisfaction to bland impassiveness. He could come up with absolutely no explanation for the man's actions.

He wanted to tell Sheppard and the others what he'd seen but Carson had obviously slipped him something for the pain. His head was feeling extremely heavy and thick, which couldn't be good for the neck. So he thought it best to rest his chin on his chest to ease the work of holding up his already massive brain.

He was going to tell Sheppard something, though, wasn't he? If only he could remember _what..._

"Let's get him moved now that he's more comfortable," Carson murmured.

His team swung into action and had the injured man rolling towards the infirmary in double time.

Zelenka stayed behind to lock the artefact away and mark it as hazardous, and tutted and muttered to himself in Czech over the recent catalogue of misfortune the expedition was facing. Being around some people was proving hazardous to one's health.

He'd have to make a list of groups to avoid.

00oo00

John and Ronon followed the medical pageant to the infirmary and waited impatiently for Carson to assess McKay's condition. Teyla and Elizabeth joined them shortly after their own arrival.

After what seemed like days Carson reappeared and beckoned them to McKay's bedside. Rodney was pale but asleep with both arms in high elevation. A drip infused into the crook of his right arm and a morphine pump was piggy-backed into it.

Carson checked the readings from his monitors before moving slightly away so as to not disturb his patient.

"Well, it could have been worse, but only just. He's got second degree burns tae both hands and they'll take a while to heal. He was very lucky, I don't have tae tell ye. If Radek hadn't got that thing out of his hands when he did Rodney would be looking at permanent disability. The skin would have scarred and tightened and lost its elasticity."

He stopped to flex his own hand as he continued the explanation.

"The hand is one of the most flexible sets of joints in the body. If it loses that flexibility it's as intractable as a claw. Rodney's career could have been seriously jeopardised, if not over. As it stands he faces weeks of physical therapy before he's out of the woods. That is, providing he has nae setbacks before then."

John swore under his breath. He didn't know what had happened in the lab but something told him this couldn't have been Rodney's fault. The man was always harping on at _him_ to be more careful around the artefacts until they'd been catalogued for hazards. There was no way McKay was going to just pick something up that hadn't yet been cleared, even with a gene that was sometimes reluctant to operate as efficiently as John's.

"Let me know when he's awake, Doc. I need to know his side of this. In the meantime there's someone I have to talk to. Thanks for looking out for him."

He patted Beckett tiredly on the shoulder as he and Ronon headed out of the infirmary.

Beckett followed their heavy tread and pondered the colonel. Given the choice he knew the man would have preferred to wait by his friend's bedside to offer reassurance as soon as he wakened, but getting to the bottom of the accident was clearly too important to ignore.

"Carson, thank you, again. We're really lucky to have you. I don't like to think what life out here would be like if you weren't here with us," Elizabeth smiled tiredly at him.

"Aye, well, lass, I'm not going anywhere any time soon," he reassured the two women.

Teyla smiled that lovely warm smile at him that made his legs go all wobbly, and settled into the empty chair by Rodney's bedside to wait for her friend and team mate to waken. It made Carson more than a little envious of the camaraderie the team had developed, but he knew, too, that they'd be there for _him_ if the need ever arose. He just hoped that need would _never_ arise. Like most doctors, he made for a lousy patient.

He adjusted the flow of the morphine and snuggled the blankets under his friend's slack chin and regarded him fondly. The man was an annoying bugger at times but life without him wouldn't be quite the same.

00oo00

Flynn could hardly keep from grinning as he recalled the simple accident in the lab. He'd hovered so long outside McKay's domain that he was in danger of being suspected of loitering should the colonel or Major Lorne happen by, so it was a fluke that the scientist had stormed out and demanded his assistance in moving the heavy equipment about.

He had put up with the orders and insults by biting his tongue and looking for the first opportunity to do this pompous windbag some serious damage.

Too bad that the colonel thought so highly of the obnoxious Canadian. Flynn had an agenda to keep to and if the colonel got in his way that would just be _his_ bad luck.

If that stupid Czech hadn't arrived when he did, Dr McKay's days of ordering foot soldiers about would have been numbered. Maybe Dr Zelenka would have to be added to his grand scheme, but he'd have to think about it. That might introduce another element to things and he liked how his original plan sat with him.

He was making his way back to the squad room where he was meant to have been all along, but he doubted he would have been missed. He certainly hadn't gone out of his way to forge too many friendships and the others seemed more than content to leave it like that.

A shout behind him raised the hairs on the back of his neck as he realised his commanding officer was calling him. _Now_ there'd be some answering to be done. He'd have to think fast on his feet to keep Sheppard from getting suspicious.

His heart sank when he saw the towering Satedan beside Sheppard.

"Colonel, Specialist Dex," he nodded respectfully. "Can I help you, sir?"

The colonel was looking him over in a cool, calculating manner that raised his neck hairs even further. This would have to be good.

"You can start by telling me why you're here, wandering the corridors and what exactly you were doing in the science labs this afternoon?"

00oo00

"So, he says he was making his way back to the squad room and you corralled him into moving the stuff about. The accident took him as much by surprise as it obviously did you."

Sheppard had quizzed Flynn for a long thirty minutes but hadn't been able to get the man to waver in his story. The explanation was limp at best but short of accusing the man of outright lies there was little John could do. He'd sent the man off to write a full report and pull double shift on gate room guard duty, followed by a week in inventory for not being where he should have been, and had missed the look of resentment fired his way as he strode off.

He now sat at McKay's bedside in the infirmary, calmly feeding his friend blue Jell-O but inwardly bristling at the thought of how much worse McKay's injury could have been.

Rodney's eyes were glazed enough for John to know that his friend was on the good stuff, and Carson had only recently been by to check on his patient.

"So, how ya doin', buddy? Ya need anything?"

Rodney rolled his too-heavy head on the pillow to cast a benign smile on his _good buddy._ How many people could he truly count on two hands, his two _burned_ hands, who would sit and feed him one of his favourite puddings because he couldn't do it himself?

Another thought crossed his mind, along with a look of discomfort and a degree of physical jiggling.

Sheppard noticed the contortions.

"Rodney, what's up? Do you want me to get Carson?"

Rodney looked at his heavily bandaged hands and back at his friend, suddenly blushed bright red and squirmed as if there were ants in the bed with him

John wasn't too long in working out what McKay's sudden awkwardness was all about.

"Ah...do you need help visiting the...er...bathroom, Rodney?" he grinned.

"Er, yeah, would you..."

"No!"

"Come on, we're buddies, I'd help _you_ out." Rodney whined and _pouted._

"Hell, no! And you would _not_ because there's no way I'd ask you. There's being friends and there's _that! _That's _way_ beyond friendship." John held his hands up as if to ward off an attack. "I'll go get Carson, or a nurse. What type do you want? Female, male or battleaxe?"

He rose to his feet but Rodney had moved on to other thoughts.

"Never mind, I'll hold it in. Stupid grunt!" he growled.

Sheppard's eyebrows disappeared and Rodney giggled at the sight of the hirsute acrobatics.

"Nononono, not _you!_ Although, come to think of it..."

"Hey! You want any more of this," he held aloft the almost finished Jell-O, "you'll can the insults!"

He took his seat again since Rodney had stopped wriggling about like a worm on a line, for now, at least. Although, he suspected that with the amount of fluids dripping into Rodney's arm the delicate subject would raise again, soon.

Rodney grinned oafishly at him and opened his mouth like a starving chick. John sighed as he shovelled in another heaped spoonful and watched his friend's blissed-out expression. It was like feeding a child, one with a very short attention span.

"So...you were explaining..." he prompted after another swallow.

"Oh, yeah. Stupid grunts...that idiot in the lab...he bumped against the bench and the artefact fell. I caught it in case it did more damage in dropping. Shoulda seen my dive." He grinned at his own exalted memories of the incident before returning to the narrative. "Teach me to expect them to have even half a brain. After all, if they sign on the dotted line to serve _your_ stupid country that should tell me enough to avoid them like the plague."

"Play nice, McKay. You were only too happy to have him help up to that point, and anyway, what you say corroborates his story. He says he lost his balance and jarred the worktop and the device just fell. He was just behind you in reaching for it and I must say he was very complimentary about how quickly you got to it."

McKay brightened momentarily at the unexpected praise before his natural bristly nature resurrected.

"Why should he be surprised? Does he not know that you have us regularly dodging stunners and bullets and running for our lives and that I have the finely tuned body of an Olympic athlete as a result?"

"Aye, and that finely tuned body needs some rest, now." Carson had sneaked up on the friends unnoticed. "Colonel, I'll have tae ask ye tae let Rodney get some sleep. He's got a busy day ahead of him. I'll need tae snip away at the dead skin on his hands tae let the new skin grow and it won't be pleasant. Rodney, do ye need something tae help ye get over?"

"He fills my head with horrific images and asks me can I sleep! Sheppard, contact the SGC and ask them are there any other quacks available that they can send out, experience not essential, medical degree optional!"

Sheppard patted his friend's shoulder comfortingly. "Get some shut-eye, Rodney. I'll see you tomorrow. Carson, don't let him bully you. If he's too much trouble, just threaten him some more. It always works for me."

He made to move off, grinning hugely at the look of abandonment on McKay's face, and grinned some more at the wolfish expression on the medic's face.

"Oh, and Carson, I do believe he needs to go to the little scientists' room," John fired as he scurried towards the door.

"HEY! Less of the _little_ scientist if you don't mind," Rodney retorted, his manhood under attack. "I'll have you know..."

"Rodney! I wouldnae go there, lad. Don't forget I've had ye both in here, stripped of your clothes more times than I care for, and I wouldnae go rushing into making boastful statements."

"Yeah, well, I _do_ kinda need to...er...go, you know?" He blushed some more and John grinned his own wolfish grin.

"Aye, Rodney, I'm sure ye do. Now, I can always get ye a commode at the side of the bed, or will ye accept a wheelchair and Nurse Smart's assistance?"

Rodney couldn't place Nurse Smart and just hoped she wasn't the cute redhead who'd arrived with the latest contingent off the _Daedalus_. He made it his duty to check out all new arrivals in person and she'd caught his eye immediately.

"Your luck's changing, McKay," John gloated. "Maybe she's _into_ little scientists." He laughed again at the expression on his friend's face and Carson's appreciative grin. "See you later, _big guy_!"

His laughter could be heard drifting through the closing doors and Rodney scowled after him, but really, _full bladder here!_

Once business had been taken care of, _and that was something Rodney chose not to dwell on since his face had taken on the hue of a hypertensive alcoholic, and perfectly matched the colour of Carole Smart's lovely hair_, he settled back into his bed with a woe-is-me expression.

Carson fussed over him for a moment, making sure his friend was as comfortable as possible. He could see by the way Rodney's face was contorting that the man was brewing up to a question so he took his time making that final check.

"Carson?"

"Hmm?"

"So...given how much he's prone to Kirking around, _is he_...you know...better endow..."

"RODNEY! I'll put this conversation down entirely tae the fact that you're on strong medication but I never want tae be having it again. D'yen ken?"

Rodney nodded contritely and a thought suddenly struck his big brain.

"You won't mention this to Sheppard, will you? I mean, patient confidentiality and all that, because he'd never let me live it down."

"Aye, you're lucky I've as many secrets as a priest. Now get some SLEEP or I'll change my mind."

As McKay drifted off something else was nagging at the back of his mind, something he'd wanted...no, needed to tell Sheppard, something very important. Something that had happened at the time of the accident but for the life of him he just couldn't recall what it might be.

Oh, well, it can't have been that important if _he'd_ managed to forget it.

TBC – reviews would be appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks again to all who have left a review, signed in or otherwise. Thanks, too, to those who have added this to their alerts. I'm amazed but deeply grateful.

_Chapter five_

Rodney's hands took some time to heal. Fortunately, they did heal without the need for skin grafts but it had been touch and go for a while. Carson had been ruthless in the skin-trimming, much to Rodney's disgust and the complaints of barbarism and lack of concern on his behalf were a daily occurrence for quite some time.

"Ach, Rodney, ye know fine well we're looking out for ye. Isnae the colonel nearly running himself intae the ground fetching and carrying for ye, and Radek's been in tae see me with stress because you're never off the radio telling him what tae do."

Carson had scolded his best friend but with a gentle hand. He knew well the pain from burns wasn't something to be ignored and Rodney had a legitimate reason to moan.

"What ye need tae do is get yourself a hobby, man," he'd advised his impatient patient.

"What do you suggest, Carson? Needlecraft for beginners?" Rodney had held up his bandaged hands.

"Why don't ye go and talk tae Elizabeth, see if there's anything ye can be helping her with," Carson had suggested, getting close to the end of his tether. "But stay away from the labs, mind. If I hear ye've been down there poking and sticking your hands anywhere they shouldnae be...I'll...well, I dinnae know rightly what I'll do but I guarantee ye'll nae like it. Now, away outta ma hair!"

And so it was that Elizabeth added Carson Beckett to her rather long list of People to Have a Serious Talk With.

Rodney took to haunting the gate room, especially when Team Sheppard was off-world. His would be the last face they'd see as they stepped into the vortex and the first on their return, always with the lost puppy look.

John had quizzed Radek over the incident in the lab, as well as questioning Flynn again, but neither could shed any further light on the accident. It was just one more thing in this crazy galaxy that they'd to worry about: hazardous artefacts that could blow up in your face. As if they didn't have enough to watch out for.

The PT sessions were arduous and painful for both patient and therapist but John accompanied Rodney as often as he could, and when he wasn't available Teyla and even Ronan stepped into the breach. One way or another, someone was there to encourage Rodney, to help him carry on his exercises between PT sessions and help him out with day to day activities.

Thankfully he'd been past the need for bathroom assistance by the time he was released from the infirmary, much to everyone's relief.

Radek stepped up to the plate as science member in Rodney's absence on John's team. When he'd first stepped into the fabled city of Atlantis he'd have laughed at the idea that he wanted to go on potentially dangerous missions away from the relative safety of the city confines. He still wasn't overly confident in doing so, and especially when it involved flying in any description, but for the meantime he'd do what he could to help.

On this particular day Sheppard's team were three hours overdue and Rodney was pacing back and forth in Elizabeth's office like a caged tiger. Elizabeth was worried, naturally, but normally she managed to stay focused on whatever work currently sat on her desk until such times, as too often in the past, that she couldn't ignore the facts any longer. Too many times she'd written off John and his team, which normally included the fretting man in front of her.

"Is it normally like this, Elizabeth?" he queried.

"_Always!"_ she replied softly.

John's team, stepping out of the wormhole some five hours late were met with a look of relief and hugs from Elizabeth, and scathing remarks from Rodney.

"Have you _any_ idea what your lack of contact did to Elizabeth?" he almost shrieked. "She was practically tearing her hair out, worried sick about you!"

John, who like the rest of SGA1 was battered and bruised but otherwise unhurt, took a step back from the verbal assault. He took in Elizabeth's undoubted concern but also the look he recognised on Rodney's face, that one of not coping with doom and gloom.

"We're _fine_, Rodney. And you should have seen Radek." He grinned at the small man sporting his own selection of bruises. "This is a man who can _run!"_

"Yes, well, he's that much closer to the ground, isn't he?" Rodney snarked, mostly in his own defence. "Anyway, you can _run_ off to Beckett, now, Radek. I need to talk to Sheppard."

Radek knew only too well that his place on SGA1 was limited, and if the truth be told, he wasn't at all sad about that. Much as he enjoyed the company of the two soldiers and the beautiful Athosian, he wasn't a man given to needing to throw himself at danger. Rodney was welcome to his place just as soon as he was mended. And if by taking his place that spurred Rodney on to recovery, so much the better.

It was always good to have motivation.

00oo00

Stackhouse was the next victim of Flynn's machinations but it was a close call between him and Ronon.

Again, it seemed like just one of those co-incidences where Murphy was front and centre and showing just how healthy his Law was out here in the playground known as the Pegasus galaxy.

Sheppard had arranged for some tactical exercises out on the mainland and had left Ronon and a by now fully recovered Evan Lorne to organise it, needing to clear some of the backlog from his bulging in-tray before Elizabeth took him to task and the dust bunnies moved back in using a covert operation and black ops manoeuvres.

The two soldiers had risen to the challenge with exuberance and delight, and a feral glint had appeared in Ronon's eyes as he'd enquired as to how far he could push the men.

"Don't break them. Just make sure they come back alive. They're no good to me if they can't fight the Wraith after you've knocked the stuffing out of them," John had grinned.

He'd seen Ronon in action in the gym and the man took no prisoners. And in the gym they'd at least a comfortable exercise mat to land on when he threw them over his shoulder with consummate ease. Out in the real world they'd not have the luxury of their enemies taking it easy, as John had experienced too often.

He had a momentary pang of sympathy for the raw recruits he was sending out to train, not because of the need to train, but because of who they'd be up against. But it was in their best interests that they were at their best out here where no-one knew where the next enemy would come from.

And Ronon was the best when it came to training. No-one else amongst them could lay claim to surviving seven years as a runner and killing countless Wraith.

00oo00

Three jumpers of marines had duly transported out with paint ball rounds in their P90s instead of live ammo and Lorne and Ronon had split them into Wraiths and Hunted. Each team had some experienced men in their group to give on-the-ground advice but the exercise was to hone the reactions and instincts of the newbies.

Many of those newbies had scoffed at the very idea that they were raw recruits. None of them were fresh out of Military Training and had seen war either on Earth or with the SGC, but Sheppard was insistent that all previous experience was wiped off the slate when they stepped off the _Daedalus._

The brief was for the teams to kill or capture and avoid capture respectively and the two overseers would be impartial, dealing alike with anyone _they_ came across, just to add an extra element of danger to the game.

The marines who had previous experience of Ronon in live battle smiled knowingly at the unsuspecting faces of the new men. Ronon didn't believe in pulling his punches and woe betide anyone whom he came across.

For more than four hours the game had progressed with almost equal results. Nearly as many Wraiths sported the red paint blotches that indicated they'd been killed as the yellow blotches on the Hunted. One or two others had been stripped of their weapons when Ronon had crept up behind them and taken great delight in pronouncing them as Wraith-bait before sending them back to the jumpers to await the end of the game.

Overall, he'd been content to watch the men as Sheppard had requested rather than getting too actively involved so that he could report back to Lorne and his team leader.

He was making his way back to the clearing when he heard the snapping of twigs underfoot. He dropped into a crouch and saw Stackhouse a short distance ahead of him. He and his partner had obviously split up in the hunt, perhaps having seen a target two surround. The man had stopped to listen intently, obviously having also heard the snap of twigs, and was on high alert.

Ronon sat back, metaphorically, to watch.

They were inside the tree line where plenty of cover had added to the game but sunlight still managed to filter through and Ronon's sharp eye caught the glint of light off the telescopic sights on the P90 just as it was raised towards Stackhouse. He realised with a minor note to himself that he was directly behind Stackhouse and that if the sniper missed his target he might just hit _him. _He had no desire to have to report back to the jumpers having fallen victim to the 'kill' so he eased slightly out of the line of fire just as the marine pulled the trigger.

It would have been a close call as to whom was the more surprised when the round that came from the P90 felled its victim with the sharp report of live ammo. Stackhouse fell like a stone and Ronon rose from his position with a blood-curdling war cry as he crashed through the undergrowth to the fallen man. For their part, the two marines who had attacked Stackhouse stood with mouths agape. The one who had fired it had the P90 clutched in his grip like it was a live serpent.

Ronon dropped to his knees beside Stackhouse and quickly assessed the man's injury. He was relieved to find that it was nothing more debilitating than a flesh wound to his left thigh, but his anger wasn't to be so easily abated. He called the others back at the jumpers on the radio and arranged for two men to bring a stretcher to the unfortunate sergeant. His face showed his fury as he turned to the shaking marines standing within arm's reach.

"How come you have live ammo?"

Ronon was as angry as the marines had ever seen him and for a moment Flynn regretted that he hadn't seen the Satedan and shot _him_ instead, but he had a plan and he had to stick to it. Life might have been a lot simpler if Ronon wasn't always lurking just off centre. But the man refused to have anything to do with the gene therapy and therefore, _ipso facto_, was off the list.

For now he'd have to continue to play the innocent and plead total ignorance.

"I-I dunno, sir. I just collected the gun from the armoury, like everyone else. I didn't think to check it any more than any of the others did. It was just my bad luck to pick this one instead of another."

"I think that bad luck might be Stackhouse's, don't you?" Ronon took the weapon from Flynn's suddenly lax grip and removed the clip, checking and seeing that the other rounds were also live. He handed the now empty weapon back to the crestfallen soldier and pointed towards the way back to the clearing. "I'll wait for the stretcher party. You make your way back and start writing your report. Sheppard will have something to say to you about this."

The sentence was almost a month's supply of words for Ronon but he felt this wasn't the time to play the strong and silent type. Some of these marines were too dangerous to keep around if today's results were to be believed and Sheppard was relying on him to be brutally honest.

The second marine stooped to assess the condition of his sergeant and render some field first aid. He handed his own P90 over without question when Ronon grabbed it from him and inspected the clip.

Bennett was as shocked as everyone else when Flynn's round had taken their target down rather than splattering him with paint in the way his own weapon had done.

He'd been more fruitful in finding and taking out their targets and if truth be told, he'd felt more than a little smug to have acquired so many when Flynn hadn't even found one. The marine was less than popular in the barracks and his lack of acquired targets would be just so much more juicy stuff to goad him with. He had briefly wondered why Flynn hadn't scored any hits, yet, but his own pride told him it was because _he_ was the better shot.

So when they'd come across Sergeant Stackhouse, Flynn had told him quite assertively "_this one's mine_" and he hadn't argued.

Watching the man rolling on the ground in pain he wished with all his heart that he'd taken the 'kill shot' and not Flynn, in spite of those pushy words. He could easily have claimed that he'd seen Stackhouse before the other man had, but something in Flynn's demeanor had stopped him. And he'd had no reason to suspect that the man's gun was in any way different to all the others.

Ronon sat back on his heels and waited silently for the rescue party to arrive, and pondered the accident. He'd teased Sheppard that the latest recruits were clumsy and too stupid to stay alive out here and today's exercise was Sheppard's way of agreeing and putting Ronan to the task of licking the green men into combat shape.

More than half had shown true potential and he could work with them, honing their survival instincts and making worthy soldiers out of them, but some were best suited to guarding the gate and nothing more challenging than that. Even gate duty was a responsible job that he wasn't sure they were cut out for. If he had any say in the matter he'd recommend they were sent back to Earth.

Something about Flynn was tugging at his memory but he couldn't pin it down other than that the man seemed to be about more often than normal. Perhaps, Ronan rationalised, it was because the man was one of the newest recruits and one of the clumsier and therefore always in the group receiving the latest training. Still, he'd say something to Sheppard about it the next time he remembered.

TBC - reviews would be most appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: thanks again for the reviews and being added to alerts. I really do appreciate them. Thanks, too, to Tracy for pointing out that I'd misspelt Ronon's name with an 'a'. Hopefully I've corrected all the mistakes.**

**She also pointed out that surely Flynn's name cropping up on so many incident reports should have been spotted, but although these incidents happen in each chapter, they're actually spread out over several months so the co-incidence isn't as readily obvious to Sheppard and Lorne.**

**Still, in this rather wordy chapter (and I apologise for the need to fill scenes with description rather than spunky dialogue) Sheppard does some deducing and doesn't care for what he finds, and Flynn cares even less for what _he_ finds. Oh-oh!**

_Chapter six_

Things had quietened down a little on the accident front. Nothing untoward had happened, apart from the usual running-for-your-life scenarios met every time the away teams stepped off-world, for several weeks. All injured parties were recovering with no lasting impairment although Stackhouse was off active duty for a while whilst he recovered.

Rodney was finally back on full, active service with no lasting impairment to his hands, much to the relief of everyone. He'd wasted no time in taking back full control of his lab, snorting derisively at some of the ongoing experiments Kavanagh was running, and surprising Miko with a word of praise for hers. Her eyes, large behind her glasses, had widened impossibly and Radek had smiled to himself as he'd understood Rodney's actions were in effect alienating Kavanagh further. Something he was sure Rodney was only too aware of.

All of the incident reports had been duly completed, brought to Sheppard's attention and considered for action to be taken.

Williams had been quizzed over his accident on the mainland when he'd visited the Athosians but couldn't recall what had caused him to stumble and fall. He'd been slightly ahead of Flynn, berating the man for having forgotten the wherewithal to transfer the produce from settlement to jumper and suddenly he'd been in freefall without a parachute. He had no recollection of being tripped or pushed, something that Carson explained might never come back to him, such being the nature of traumatic amnesia. In truth, Williams had been more than a little embarrassed at his own perceived clumsiness.

Stackhouse had been on the alert for the paintball attack and it had been no fault on his part that he'd been shot with a live round. He admitted that he and his hunting partner had spotted the two marines and had deliberately split up to outflank them. It had come as a complete and very painful shock to discover his targets shooting back with real bullets.

Flynn had been grilled for what had felt, to both parties, like hours and had been unwavering in his statement that he'd picked the P90 from amongst others with nothing to indicate that it had live ammo in the clip. He found himself on further probation and restricted to base until further notice, something that left him seething although he was wise enough to keep that fact to himself.

John had gone over and over the reports, jotting notes in the side margins in his small, neat writing, but despite reading them until the words started to blur, the only thing he could come up with was that there was a certain co-incidence to the reports. The most glaringly obvious was that a certain name popped up far too often for his liking.

Barry Flynn was still a relative newcomer to the expedition and John hadn't yet decided if he was suitable for Atlantis. The man was often aloof, seldom mixing in with the squad room banter and raucous behaviour common to most of the men. As far as John could make out, from feedback he'd received from his XO, Flynn hadn't formed any real friendships, either. Although he was loathe to take the step, the commanding officer in him who was looking out for his men made John wonder should he refer the soldier to Heightmeyer.

Out here where enemies turned up at every opportunity, you needed to be able to count on the person watching your back. As far as Flynn was concerned, he wasn't tripping over friends offering to do just that.

John had spoken to Lorne about the man who fell under the major's eagle eye more often than his own.

"_I'm not sure, Colonel,"_ Evan had replied. He was reluctant to give the young marine an undesirable label without justification but he wasn't overly keen on the man, either. _"He's got an attitude problem, that much I'll agree. Sometimes you'd think he was plotting murder, the look he has on his face in unguarded moments. I just wouldn't feel happy with him watching my back. I'll be keeping him on a short leash for a while, yet, unless you've any recommendations to the contrary."_

"_Absolutely not. You're more in a position to assess him. Just keep me posted if you think he's a problem. I'd rather send him back with a black mark over his head_ (and John knew all about _those)_ _than either him or someone else in a body bag because we didn't act when we should."_

And so Lorne had been left the task of regularly assessing the corporal's progress. He'd submitted his latest report to the colonel just the previous evening. Flynn had been on base for three eventful months.

John had read the stark words:

'_...consistently failing to fit in with team activities; lone-wolf syndrome, unaccepted by_

_the other men; often resentful of instructions; my recommendation to Colonel Sheppard is that Corporal Flynn be reassigned to the SGC. _

_Evan Lorne, Major.'_

Waking at 4am he tossed and turned, mulling things over in his restless mind. It was a major step to take, sending someone back, deemed unsuitable for their current assignment. That sort of caution on a man's record would seriously scupper his career prospects.

Given his own less than sterling past, John hesitated. Perhaps he'd have a last ditch attempt at getting through to the man, person-to-person. He'd been told he could charm the birds from the trees. Maybe he could point out his own past and steer the soldier onto a safer path.

He sat on the edge of the bed in his darkened quarters and mulled over the incidents of the past few months in his mind. If it had been one, isolated event he'd have quit worrying it to death but something about this small list of accidents was niggling at him and he wanted to solve it, if only to stop any further problems from occurring. And get some sleep!

He moved to his untidy dresser and searched around until he found a pen and paper. Bringing them back to the bed he thought the lights up to a workable level and settled against the pillows, his knees drawn up and the paper pad resting on them.

He wrote Williams' and Stackhouse's names down, the nature of their injuries and anyone closely involved in the incidents with them. Two names and two incidents seemed hardly worth calling a list so he tapped his teeth with the end of his pen before adding Lorne's and Rodney's accidents to the list, the full details of which he didn't immediately recall.

Well, now that there were four names he could _call_ it a list.

He had to actually call up Lorne's report and read it again before being able to add the names of the marines with him.

Struggling to think back the weeks since Rodney's accident in the lab he closed his eyes and conjured up the scene.

_He could see Rodney sitting on the floor with Carson tending to him, accompanied by assorted infirmary staff. Ronon was there, naturally, as they'd been together. Radek was hovering close to his friend, wringing his hands in worry. _

Was that everyone?

_He mentally cast his eye around the lab and realised someone was hovering near the door, as if they wanted to be elsewhere. Pinching his nose he thought harder. The name tried to dance out of his grasp and he pushed harder...harder still...almost got it..._

FLYNN!

He wrote it in capitals and circled it boldly. Now that he had the name he checked his list again and sighed with realisation. Flynn was definitely cropping up far too many times for it to be just a co-incidence. Something was going on with the man and it couldn't go any further. Maybe the charm offensive would be a waste of time.

Glancing at his watch John sighed in frustration. It was much too early to be carpeting anyone but now that he had the information, sleep was never going to happen.

He struggled into running gear and thought for a moment about giving Ronon a shout to see if he wanted to go for a run but the early hour wasn't fair on his friend who had no difficulty sleeping, surprising really when you considered the years he'd spent on the run from the Wraith and how he'd had to live by his wits.

So it was that Sheppard set out alone for a run around the limits of the explored parts of the city. By habit he took his radio and for a moment he contemplated his sidearm and then laughed at his own paranoia. What was he going to shoot? The shadows his own insomnia was casting before him?

He set off at an easy pace and failed to see a real shadow lurking outside his quarters, and not one imagined by insomnia.

Flynn watched as his CO moved off. It hadn't been difficult to track Sheppard's habits when he couldn't sleep and now Flynn was standing outside the door to his CO's quarters with a little gadget he'd had Zelenka supply him with under the guise that he'd had difficulty with the mechanism on his door.

The minor detail of failing to get it back hadn't occurred to the ever-busy, easily distracted engineer. He'd much too many things to do, like pandering to Rodney's every demand, to be checking that each and every gadget he loaned to a marine was returned. What did they think he was? The quartermaster?

Several seconds was all it took before Flynn was inside the room, casting his eye furtively about for any indication that Sheppard was keeping tabs on him. Recently he'd caught both Lorne and the colonel looking at him and talking together, and in his mind that meant they were discussing him.

He mentally thanked his CO for leaving the lights on and making his job that much easier. He hadn't fancied bringing a torch in case someone had spotted him moving about in the early watches of the night with something so out of place.

He moved stealthily about, noting Sheppard's eclectic taste in furnishings and the skate board and surf board propped up in the corner beside a guitar.

He thought for a heart-stopping moment that his CO had come back as he got the spine-chilling sensation of someone watching him. Whirling round, he laughed derisively at his own foolishness as Johnny Cash stared down silently at him from the wall. He tossed a mock salute to the man in black. Johnny just stared back, unconcerned.

Careful not to disturb anything lying around, Flynn continued his search.

His breath caught in his throat when he spotted Sheppard's list. Picking it up, he saw his own name appearing more often than he was comfortable with, and then heavily emphasised. Obviously his CO had a methodical mind and had worked through the incidences, and now it seemed that the list of suspects had narrowed to one, with Corporal Barry Flynn in a starring role.

Sadly, it seemed it was time that something had to befall John Sheppard. Which was a shame, really, because Flynn actually liked his CO a lot in spite of the recent occasions when he'd been questioned by him. Sheppard was one of the easiest commanding officers he'd ever been under and he respected him greatly.

Not that he'd been allowed to join the man yet on those fabled off-world expeditions. Only seasoned marines got to do _that_. He had listened with envy to the tales of those fortunate enough to have accompanied SGA1 on their jaunts and would have given a month's salary to have had the chance, just to see the colonel in action. After all, the man was a hero.

The fact that he'd always _been_ on Flynn's hit list was a minor detail because Flynn had many other gene carriers he'd planned to assault before getting to the main players. But he couldn't let Sheppard run about with this information in his head. Flynn's time was short, now that people were beginning to suspect him, which just meant that the colonel's time was even shorter.

He folded the list and tucked it inside his jacket before leaving Sheppard's quarters. He'd been careful to leave no other indication of his having been there but for now he had a CO to find and take out of the equation, permanently.

And the fact that he intended to _take_ Sheppard out of that equation meant the man would have no further need for his meticulous, damning list.

TBC - reviews, as always, gratefully received.


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks again for the reviews and the lovely people adding me to their favourites. I'm stunned, but delighted.

_Chapter seven_

John ran with an easy loping grace, the action both familiar and comforting. He'd always enjoyed the simple mindless exercise of running, of being able to close out his worries and pressure and switch off from everything except which direction to take next, how far to go and how quickly to sprint.

For the first hour or more he'd run in almost total darkness except when he'd sped through the populated areas and they had lit to greet him as he moved through the city's corridors.

It was as if the city was welcoming home her favourite son and displaying her beauty for him alone to see. As he passed each area the lights dimmed again as if she was sighing that he hadn't stayed, only to greet him again in the next area. John sometimes felt as if he and the city played a game. The quiet hum he could feel at the back of his mind was something he was now used to. It had taken him by surprise when he'd first landed in the fabled city and being relatively new to the idea of a '_mutant gene' _it had freaked him out for a while. Now, he missed it when he was off-world.

He'd moved, earlier in his run, through the gate room and the gate's night technician and guards had smiled in acknowledgement of his presence. He reckoned they'd be gossiping again about their insomniac CO but at least it kept them on their toes if they didn't know when next to expect him to pass through. Just as long as the word didn't filter back to Beckett. The last thing he needed was for the doctor to be plying him with sedatives which he wouldn't take, anyway.

He found himself out near the limits of the explored parts as the dawn was struggling through the night watches. The day promised to be beautiful and he took some time to stop and gaze through one of the tall windows and watch the pale light playing on the water out by one of the piers.

He loved the freedom of flying, through to his very core, but there was something equally magical about water and the way it allowed him to fly there, too. His surf board had been one of the items the _Daedalus_, and a bemused Caldwell, had delivered on request. Many a free moment would find him seeking the surf and he'd even tried to convince Rodney to learn the skill.

Not one of his more successful exercises, he'd ruefully admitted, once Rodney had been released from the infirmary and sworn off water sports for life.

Ronon, now maybe _he'd_ be more adept at the sport. John made a mental note to mention it to his friend. The more they got to know each other the more he appreciated the strong, silent man who towered over him but who he could always depend on to help him defend the city and watch his back. Although, they'd have to come up with some form of hat to keep the big guy's dreads dry!

John had never wanted to command this amazing city, content simply to have been asked by Elizabeth to be part of the expedition because of his gene. He knew, had it been up to Sumner, and possibly O'Neill, that he'd still have been a glorified taxi driver out at McMurdo. So when he'd had command thrust upon him, largely by his own actions, he'd felt less than ready and totally inadequate to the task.

That had been almost three years and a promotion ago and he had to admit to himself that now he'd fight tooth and nail to hold onto this city and the command that went with it. And wouldn't that be a shock to the top brass and his father! The father who had more or less washed his hands of the good-for-nothing son who'd rather mess around with airplanes than knuckle down and do some _real_ work. In Sheppard senior's eyes his son had simply refused to grow up, in spite of the action he'd seen in Afghanistan.

John felt more complete out here in an alien galaxy than he'd ever imagined he would, or could, feel anywhere back on Earth, and that was a shock to _him_. Earth held nothing for him, nowadays, not since his marriage to Nancy had hit the bend in the road.

Stretching tired legs he realised he'd run much further than he'd intended and would be very weary by the time he made it back to his quarters. If he was to make it back in one piece he'd better get going again. He jogged on the spot for a few moments to get the blood coursing again.

"_Come on, Sheppard_," he could almost hear Ronon shouting at him. "_Call that running? The Wraith aren't going to ease up when they're chasing you!"_

Pushing off from his viewing point he headed back at an easier jog and checked his watch. Almost 6am and he'd have Ronon camped outside his door waiting for their regular run by the time he got back. He was tempted to give him a call but decided against it. The surprise on Ronon's face as he arrived back at his quarters would be peachy.

He had worked up quite a lather and his muscles were screaming at him by the time he was approaching recognisable landmarks again. Carson would probably hear of this and haul him in for a tongue-lashing, _if_ he got off as lightly as that. He was always telling him to take in higher calories if he intended to '_run your skinny hide intae the ground_'. And that most certainly didn't cover going for a two hour run with _no_ calories on board.

He was almost back to the corridor that led to his quarters and he slowed his approach to start cooling down. After another 100 yards or so he stopped to catch his breath and rest tingling hands on his thighs for a moment, and just caught the faintest whisper of movement from behind him. He was turning sharply with a raised arm even as he saw blurred movement.

Something solid impacted violently and painfully on his right forearm and bounced off that to connect soundly with his head. The corridor lights that had previously greeted him so warmly were now dipping and whirling dizzily, flashing brighter and then dimming.

He closed his eyes to shut out the nauseating kaleidoscopic effect and the pain in both his arm and skull. Instinct had made him throw his arm up in a reflexive move but the agony chewing at it now made him drop it protectively to his side, leaving his head exposed.

He thought he heard a curse before more agony again assailed his head and shoulder and he fell forward into welcome darkness.

As he drifted into oblivion his last thought was that Ronon would have to wait for his run.

00oo00

The Satedan was losing patience as he paced back and forth outside Sheppard's room. He'd pounded on the door, rung the chime more times than he could remember and still hadn't got a reply. He knew Sheppard slept poorly at times and was a light sleeper when he did get some shut-eye so he couldn't understand why he was getting no response.

He hadn't worn his own radio earpiece though he knew Sheppard seldom was parted from his so he made his way to the control room in the hope that someone could locate the missing man.

Chuck was just receiving a hand-over report from the night watchman and they both greeted Ronon cautiously as he thundered towards them.

"Have you seen Sheppard?"

Chuck looked at his companion who nodded. "Saw him a couple of hours ago, Mr Dex, out on an early run. I didn't see him come back this way but there's no reason to say he had to. Have you tried raising him on the 'com?"

Ronon's shaggy head shook. "Wasn't wearing mine."

Chuck opened the link without further delay. If Ronon was concerned enough to come here looking for their CO, Chuck was wise enough to not question him further.

"Colonel Sheppard, this is Control, please respond."

They waited seconds which seemed to turn to minutes and when a second hail still failed to get a response they moved to locating Sheppard via his sub-dermal transmitter.

The night watchman and Chuck spotted it simultaneously, pointing enthusiastically.

"There! He's not far from his quarters and there seems to be another heat source beside him. That person hasn't been fitted yet with a transmitter so we can't identify them. Maybe he met up with one of the new people and they ran together. It shouldn't take you more than a minute to meet up with them."

Something about the fact that Sheppard's signal was static worried at Ronon. His friend wasn't quite up to his own punishing pace when running but he was no slouch, either, and seldom stayed still like his signal was doing now.

"Give me a radio. I'll check he's ok and report back."

Chuck handed over his own headpiece and the two men watched the Satedan sprint in the direction of their CO. They exchanged worried looks, as much for Sheppard when Dex found him and gave him a rollicking, as for any unconfirmed worries that there was anything amiss. Although, given the colonel's record for attracting trouble even when seemingly safe on base, they wouldn't discount it, either. They logged it as something to report to Dr Weir when she arrived shortly.

Ronon wasted no time in heading towards Sheppard. Everything about the situation was screaming at his survival instincts. The chosen route would take him directly to his friend and he'd not be content until he saw the man merely idling to chat to one of the new recruits and he could yell at him for worrying him.

'_And just when exactly did I start to care so much?'_ he asked himself, but he knew he looked on these people as family, now.

Less than a minute brought him to a lit corridor where up ahead he could see two figures, but something was definitely wrong with this picture.

One of the figures was on the ground and the other was bending over him, clutching him under the arms as if trying to help him. The reason that Sheppard hadn't responded when hailed suddenly seemed crystal clear to his friend.

He let out a yell as he approached.

"Sheppard!"

Flynn had been about to drag the now unconscious body of his CO out of the corridor and dispose of it somewhere. He just hadn't quite worked out the finer details of body disposal, acting purely on instinct rather than a pre-conceived plan at this stage, and was more than dismayed to hear Dex's shout.

Thinking as quickly as he could he laid Sheppard flat again and straightened to await the man's approach, hoping there was nothing on the wooden stick at his feet to tell who had wielded it. He hadn't had the opportunity or wherewithal to hide it and it seemed to be screaming _'it was HIM'_ as it glared up at him.

He swallowed sudden bile and turned to the Satedan.

"Mr Dex, thank God you're here. Something seems to have happened to the colonel. I found him here like this and I didn't know whether to move him or go for help. I was just trying to waken him and get him to his feet when you came along."

Ronon noted the lack of radio on the marine but the idiot should have used Sheppard's radio. Maybe, _perhaps_, the man simply hadn't known or expected a jogger to be wearing one. He filed the thought away to be worried at when he didn't have an injured commander to see to.

He checked him over as quickly as possible, not liking what he found. The pilot was out cold with blood running down his face from a nasty looking gash to his right temple, a duck-egg swelling already forming. His right arm was misshapen in the telltale sign of a fracture.

Ronon let loose a few Satedan swear words before contacting the infirmary, and then Lorne. The wheels were set in motion to retrieve the injured man but also to inspect and assess the scene of the attack before too much traffic destroyed any evidence they could find. The assault weapon was clearly visible and Ronon wanted nothing better than to take this man, _Flynn, AGAIN_, and throttle more information out of him. Something about the man set the hairs on Ronon's neck standing to attention and he didn't care if the soldier knew it.

Someone had obviously attacked Sheppard, and unless they'd a Wraith or Genii soldier in the city that no-one knew about, Sheppard had been attacked by one of his own people.

TBC - reviews would be appreciated.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: once again I'm astounded at the international response to my story. I'm really grateful to everyone who reviews or adds this rambling nonsense to their alerts.

_Chapter eight_

John had a healthy loathing for the antiseptic smell of infirmaries the world over, and even though this one was in a different _galaxy_ it still smelled the same. Over his military career he'd suffered his fair share of injuries and always fought to get out of the infirmary's cloying confines as soon as possible, usually much earlier than the medics were happy with.

It was just his way of coping. He was essentially a private man for all his easy ways and the fewer people peering at him as he lay in a hospital bed, the better.

One of his worst recent experiences was the knowledge that his friends had had to watch as Kolya had let the Wraith feed on him, reducing him to an old man before their eyes. That sort of sharing of intimate suffering wasn't anywhere close to being in his comfort zone at all.

He struggled to open his eyes and immediately slammed them shut again as the bright lights assaulted him. He went to raise his right arm to shield his eyes and couldn't contain the groan as the movement awakened his other injuries.

Carson swore quietly as he dimmed the lights directly overhead.

"Try again, Colonel, I've turned them down a bit."

John listened to the reassuring soft brogue and partly opened his lids to find the man's words were true. The lights were much more tolerable now, if only the same could be said for the level of pain he was experiencing. Plus, the rather disconcerting fact that there seemed to have been an increase in the number of Becketts on Atlantis. Currently, he was squinting at twins.

Carson watched his patient's face closely for an indication of his suffering. He had to be canny with this man; the colonel's high pain threshold was legendary and he regularly claimed to be fine when it was more than obvious he was far from it. Carson didn't believe in pushing analgesics where they weren't needed but he also refused to allow any patient of his to suffer unnecessarily.

"That's very good, Colonel. I guess ye know you're in the infirmary. How are ye feeling?"

He was still processing that and hadn't quite worked out how to respond when he was saved the trouble.

"How do you expect him to respond to that, Carson? He's going to play the '_I'm fine'_ card any minute now, just you wait," an exasperated voice chirped.

"Thank ye, Rodney, I had worked that one out all on ma own. If ye could just let the man answer for himself."

John swallowed with some difficulty on a dry throat, a sure sign that he'd been here longer than he was comfortable with, probably having had oxygen, too. The dryness of his mouth hinted at the delivery of the gas at some stage in his recent past. He coughed dryly, which prompted an enthusiastic chorus of coughs, all determined to make him feel even sorrier.

A soft nudge to his shoulder had him turning his head slowly and half-smiling in gratitude as he recognised the poke in the face from the proffered straw. He sucked in some blessedly cool water and almost groaned when the glass and straw were removed too soon.

"Just a wee bit for now. I need tae see how your injuries are doing. Can ye tell me what ye remember?"

John struggled through the Swiss cheese of his recent memories but couldn't recall any off-world incidents that would have treated him to a stay in the infirmary. He remembered his injury of about two months ago but he'd made a full recovery from that so that couldn't have been the cause.

He shook his head and instantly wished he hadn't. Several sturdy men with pneumatic drills immediately set to digging up the inside of his skull with admirable passion, and he slammed his eyes shut as they watered mercilessly.

Carson watched in concern as his patient's face lost what little colour it had and took on a sheen of sweat. He reached for the emesis bowl on the bedside table just as Sheppard lost the battle of keeping his stomach contents contained. Not that there was anything more than bile and the few sips of water to lose. Carson held the bowl with one hand as he held the wobbly man easily on his side.

"Yuk!" McKay stepped rapidly away from the scene, clutching daintily at his nose at the olfactory offense.

"Dinnae be such a bairn, Rodney, and go get me a nurse if you're nae going tae help!"

Carson was losing the battle to keep John on his side as he continued to heave painfully and it was only going to be a matter of time before he had to leave go of the bowl or his patient.

McKay scuttled rapidly out of sight and returned blessedly quickly with a nurse in tow. She didn't need an explanation and quickly removed the bowl from Beckett's grip, replacing it instantly with an empty one before yelling to a colleague to assist.

Rodney stepped away from the scene of disarray and waited as they drew the screens around his friend's bed to tend to him.

It had been quite a shock to get the report from Ronon about Sheppard's attack. He'd made his way immediately to the infirmary and parked himself at Sheppard's bedside, refusing to move for anything other than toilet breaks. Carson and the infirmary staff had tried to move him more than once and had finally given up the uneven struggle and now worked around him.

Secretly it had pleased Carson to see that Rodney had made such a firm friend in the colonel so he put up with the man's intrusion.

He'd known Rodney McKay, double PhD and right royal pain in the ass, for quite a few years and to say the man was prickly was something of a masterclass in understatement. He made few friends and kept himself very much to himself apart from the necessary professional contact for his work. So Carson had at first been startled, and then delighted to watch as these two men, so different in every way, seemed to seek each other for company.

He often chuckled as he recalled that heart-stopping moment when Peter Grodin and Elizabeth had seen the colonel tossing Rodney off the balcony in the gate room to test the personal shield and Rodney's gene therapy. He'd heard about it shortly afterwards when Rodney and the colonel had shown up in the infirmary after Rodney's less than heroic _faint. _How those two supposedly intelligent men had come up with such an experiment to test the shield had caused him many a sleepless night and he knew Elizabeth had felt the same.

But, they'd come through not only that experiment but many fraught and dangerous missions where one or other had been injured and the other had done everything possible to get them all home, only to park themselves right where Rodney was, now.

Well, where he _would_ be once they'd cleaned the colonel up again.

Carson stepped out from the screens to let the nurses tend to their patient and caught sight of McKay's worried expression.

"He was lucky, Rodney. I dinnae suppose we'll ever learn the true nature of the attack. From his injuries I'd say he raised his arm to fend off the first blow and it saved his skull. He's got at least two bumps on his heid tae indicate more than one attack so he's got quite a doozie of a concussion going. And as ye well know, a concussion leaves ye feeling rotten for a day or two. We'll be keeping a close eye on his neuro obs but as there's nae a skull fracture he should be okay.

"I've set his arm while he was out of it and he'll be wearing a rather fetching blue cast for some weeks but apart from that he just needs time. I guarantee he'll be yelling at me tae release him before the day's out, although he should just save his breath on that matter."

"What about his collar bone? It looks very bruised, too."

"Aye, but the blow seems tae have been deflected by his heid so it had lost strength by the time it impacted his neck. Just as well, too. We just need the colonel tae stay awake and get his strength back. And if we're lucky, maybe his memory, too, so that whoever did this can be locked away before he does anything again. Are ye staying?"

"Hmm? Yes, yes, of course. He needs to remember who did this and tell us. We have a homicidal maniac out there and who knows who could be the next target! Sheppard's already reduced brain cells need all the intelligent people around him he can get to stimulate him into remembering."

"Aye, well don't stimulate him too much unless ye want a reprise of what just happened. Talk quietly tae him and make him stay still. I dinnae want him getting agitated, Rodney, or ye'll find my size eleven up your rear. D'ya ken?"

"What have you against English? Is it too much to expect you to speak your native language in a way that all other intelligent people can understand? Is that the way you spoke to your sheep?" Rodney asked with some asperity.

Carson rolled his eyes at the habitual insult.

"Och, I know ye understand me perfectly well, Rodney. Now, away with ye and dinnae go hassling my patient."

Beckett moved off, muttering Scottish curses as far as Rodney could discern, and he moved slowly back to the chair beside the bed. Sheppard was once again on his back, the head of the bed raised slightly now that he had stopped heaving out everything he'd ever eaten. His pale face and chest were bathed in perspiration, the bruises to his collar bone starkly visible. McKay grimaced in sympathy as Carla mopped her patient's face with a flannel, mindful of the heavy bandage around his forehead, before moving away.

"You look like hell, Sheppard. Your hair's even more unruly than usual what with that head bandage. And you've apparently got six stitches in that gash to your temple which no doubt will have all the women swooning over you, again!"

"Jealous, much?" Sheppard managed to whisper, his voice raw from the recent vomiting. Concussions sucked, royally.

McKay just snorted as he settled more comfortably on the chair and gathered his ubiquitous laptop up from the floor.

"So, have your few remaining synapses managed to piece together what happened to you, yet?"

John lay still, remembering all too clearly what had happened the last time he shook his head. He'd be old and stooped before he wanted to try that exercise again, and as he'd already tried out the old and stooped look he wasn't in a hurry to go there.

He worried at his bottom lip as he tried to piece together what might have occurred to land him in his least favourite spot. He could recall some things from a few days ago, or at least Rodney confirmed the date when he mentioned them, but as far as the past 24 hours were concerned, everything had fallen into a black hole. Nothing came to mind at all.

"How did I get here, anyway?"

McKay filled him in on what Ronon had relayed and watched with interest to see if the light went on in his friend's foggy head, but there was no indication of a sudden revelation.

The infirmary doors swished open and shut and the hulking form of their Satedan team mate closed the gap.

"Sheppard."

"Hey, big guy, thanks for dragging me in here. I owe you, again."

Ronon merely nodded as he propped himself onto the corner of the mattress and inspected his friend for signs of imminent demise. Seeing some colour returning to his otherwise pale face he contented himself that Sheppard was for this mortal coil for a while yet.

"You were out cold with one of the marines bending over you. Said he'd just found you before I arrived but the gate room techs saw you with someone before I left there. If it wasn't him, someone else moved off pretty quickly."

John was impressed with his friend's loquacity. It wasn't that Ronon was an uneducated man who didn't have as comprehensive a vocabulary as others. He just didn't see the need to talk things to death, unlike certain astrophysicists who sprang to mind.

"Could be he was telling the truth. You have to admit you cover the ground pretty damned quickly when you put your mind to it. Sometimes you can even keep up with me."

Dex grinned as he drank in the words. For a heart-stopping moment when he'd found his unconscious friend he'd thought he was on the brink of losing the reason for staying on Atlantis. Oh, he'd formed a very close friendship with Teyla, too, and he was slowly coming to be quite _fond_ of McKay, in a fingernails-down-blackboards sort of way, but the man in the bed was the closest he'd called friend for too many years and he had total respect for, and confidence in his team leader. If that was removed he wasn't sure he'd still feel he could fit in here amongst the humans from Earth.

"Still," Sheppard was speaking again, "I'd like to speak to that marine. Maybe he saw something that can fill a few gaps for me. What's his name?"

"Flynn."

McKay had been tapping away furiously on his keyboard, allowing the conversation to flow unheeded over his bowed head, but something...a name, perhaps, caught his attention.

"Flynn...Flynn, now why does that name mean something to me?" He worried his thumb and index finger in a circle as his massive brain moved into another gear.

"His name keeps cropping up, too often for my liking," Ronon muttered.

Sheppard, for his part, was also tossing the name about in his poor, scrambled brain but wasn't coming up with anything more concrete than a blinding headache.

"Find out, guys, and when you know, let me know. I need to get some shut-eye for a bit unless you want to be wearing my vomit as boot polish."

"Yes, thank you for that charming image but I think I'll pass, tempting as it is. Come on, Conan, let's leave the poor old man to recover his wits." A sudden recollection of his friend _as_ an old man whom they'd thought lost for ever brought Rodney crashing to a halt with a crestfallen expression. "Oh damn, sorry, sorry."

John, who at that point had closed his eyes against the renewed pounding in his skull, opened them to examine his friend carefully.

"It's ok, Rodney. Come back later and I'll be in better form to spar," he murmured softly, almost afraid that if he spoke louder he'd spook his friend into bolting from the infirmary. Pity the same thought couldn't banish the construction workers in his skull.

TBC - again, reviews would be much appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks again to all the lovely reviewers and alerts people. I've a few days off work on leave so can post earlier than usual.

_Chapter nine_

Elizabeth had been blissfully unaware of the assault at the time. She had been luxuriating in the fact that the Ancients had been appreciative of good plumbing and was enjoying a steaming shower at the time John was getting his brains bashed in.

Now, as she sat at his bedside along with Teyla, she wondered again at how many ways this screwed-up galaxy would find to hurt this man, a man she cared for dearly, but also on whom she depended so much.

Teyla had met her on the way to the infirmary, having been meditating as Ronon's call had reached her.

Now, they sat side by side and watched their friend as he dozed fitfully, pain evident on his face even when asleep.

"Do we know you did this, Elizabeth?" Teyla asked quietly.

"You've heard what Ronon had to say. The rest, we'll have to wait and see if John can supply."

"At least we know he will make a full recovery, the Ancestors be praised."

Elizabeth surreptitiously wiped a stray tear from her cheek but not before Teyla spotted the action. She discretely didn't mention it because, looking at her bruised and battered friend and team leader, she felt close to tears, herself. And tears were not something the strong Athosian allowed herself to indulge in.

Anger...that was a different matter, but she was in control of it. Once they discovered the identity of the assailant, she would take great pleasure in introducing him to the bantos sticks. And she would _not_ provide her opponent with a set of his own! Let _him_ discover what it felt like to have a heavy object leave its mark on his unprotected body.

00oo00

Flynn paced back and forth in the squad room, eliciting a few curious glances from his colleagues. It was obvious to the other marines that something was eating at Flynn but none of them cared enough for the man to venture a question. He'd shown a preference for his own company in the past and that was fine by the rest of them by now.

Rumour had it that he was the one to have found the colonel just before Ronon turned up and took charge, and the colonel's condition wasn't yet common knowledge, so they didn't know whether to hail Flynn as a hero for finding Sheppard, or a fool for not getting him help sooner.

For his part, Flynn was fairly certain no suspicion hovered over him but that didn't stop him feeling every eye on him, stripping away at his carefully constructed veneer of innocence.

He'd destroyed Sheppard's list as soon as he was on his own, igniting it before tossing the ashes over the nearest balcony. Anyone who could reconstruct those remains would be a miracle worker beyond even McKay's inflated opinion of himself.

Now all he had to hope was that the colonel had sustained a sufficient degree of amnesia that he would completely forget about his list of suspicious accidents. If Dex hadn't shown up when he had done, Sheppard would have been no longer a problem.

Part of him, that part some might call conscience, took a step backwards and looked long and hard at what Barry Flynn was turning into, and didn't like it. It tried to point out that things had gone far enough, that he'd had his fun against those he felt had mocked him. His darker side told his conscience to piss off, that he was doing what he needed to survive, and if Corporal Conscience didn't like it, it could just go take a flying leap. Preferably out of an orbiting jumper.

He didn't seem to realise that he was having this internal argument, however. Outwardly, to anyone who cared enough to inspect his facial tics and grimaces, he was a man at war with himself. He had even taken to mumbling as he paced.

The trouble was that no-one in that room cared a jot about Flynn, not even the fact that his actions were getting more and more like someone close to the edge of reason.

He was tempted to go visit the infirmary to judge the colonel's condition for himself but common sense argued that it would probably just manage to draw attention to him when really he ought to be keeping his head down.

He wondered should he listen to his conscience and cool off his campaign for now, and resume targeting gene carriers when things had settled back onto an even keel. Somehow, he doubted things _would_ settle down, though.

It had been a moment of rashness that had seen him attack the colonel before he was ready. Finding that damned list had tipped him over the edge without realising it. He'd always planned his attacks so carefully, making certain nothing pointed to him and if people wondered at him being involved he could claim that he was just accident-prone. Anyone near him, therefore, was in danger by association, and it would give him _carte blanche_ for continuing.

Though, he had to admit, attacking Sheppard without planning it properly had been stupid, and now _he_ was paying the price.

The sudden static of the city-wide radio interrupted the buzz of conversation.

"_Corporal Flynn, please report to Major Lorne's office immediately!"_

The others jeered and barracked Flynn as he stormed through the recently vacated doorway to make his way to the XO's office.

He rationalised with himself that this was to be expected, a matter of routine. After all, he was the one who'd found the colonel so it was natural to be quizzed about it.

Still, his hands had taken on the property of dead squid, cold and clammy and seemingly dripping with sweat and he longed to be anywhere but facing the major.

00oo00

He was in for a further shock when he got to the office and discovered Ronon Dex lounging almost menacingly against the far wall. The Satedan's build leant to intimidating without him having to move a muscle and Flynn was almost ready to lose control of his bowels.

"Take a seat, Corporal. This won't take long but as you can appreciate, an assault on anyone is a serious matter, even more so when it's our CO. We don't take kindly to anyone attacking the colonel." Lorne indicated the straight-backed chair in front of his desk.

Flynn nodded and tried to work some saliva into his mouth but all of his body fluids seemed determined to seep out through his palms. He perched nervously on the edge of the chair and tried for nonchalant innocence but he was sure someone had stuck "_guilty-as-hell_" across his forehead in blazing neon.

He could feel his face blazing and hoped the men would put it down to nerves rather than guilt. He wondered would the two men opposite him throw him in the brig without a hearing if he couldn't get control of rubbing his hands up and down his thighs, a sure sign, to anyone cognisant of body language, that he was nervous.

"So, Flynn, tell us about it," Lorne began, taking in the fidgeting of the man before him.

He had no great liking for this soldier he found himself interviewing. The colonel had made it Evan's job to watch and assess how Flynn was adapting to life on the base and Lorne was just about ready to sign off on the man and send him packing. He'd made no effort to become a team player and had shown little aptitude for anything other than weapons fire on the practice range. And _that_ had turned into a sorry affair.

But for now, any decision about his future on Atlantis would have to be suspended. Flynn was a suspect in the vicious attack on Sheppard and as Lorne had told the other man he didn't take kindly to someone…_anyone_…taking a swipe at the colonel.

"W-what do you mean, sir?" Flynn stammered nervously.

He needed to know what the major already knew before he started shooting himself in the foot. For a crazy moment he wondered what their expressions would be like if he just 'fessed up and told them they'd got their man. His dark side was almost tempted to risk it…

"Specialist Dex," and Lorne nodded towards the simmering man-mountain now blocking Flynn's escape from the room, "indicates that he came upon you bending over the colonel. I need you to tell me your side of the story. What were you doing out of barracks at that hour of the morning?"

Flynn had known this moment was due and he struggled to remember his carefully rehearsed speech. He swallowed again and launched into what he hoped would save his bacon.

"I was out for a run and saw two figures in the distance." He could see the sceptical look crossing their faces but he ploughed on. "There wasn't much light and I didn't know who they were but one of them turned out to be the colonel. I saw the other person's arm rise and fall before the second figure fell to the ground. I shouted at them and the other person threw something to the ground and ran off.

"I didn't know whether to give chase or see to the colonel and was just bending over him when Specialist Dex found us. I know how it must have looked, sir, but I was just as shocked to discover the colonel had been attacked as anyone else."

"Can anyone corroborate your story? Did anyone see you out on this run?"

'_Hell, I sincerely hope not!'_ Flynn thought, wondering fleetingly if there were security cameras outside the colonel's quarters. Nothing would earn him a one-way trip to a space gate _on foot_ quicker than being seen skulking in and out of Sheppard's doorway.

"I don't know, sir. I certainly didn't see anyone else before meeting the colonel."

Ronon muttered angrily, picking up on something he'd heard, and Flynn turned to him in concern.

"If the attacker had just run off, you should have said. I could have caught him."

Flynn gulped again and looked suitably shame-faced. "I was so worried about the colonel I didn't think of it at the time. I'm really sorry. Sir, if I may be so bold, how _is_ the colonel doing? Does _he _know who attacked him?"

Lorne's and Dex's faces closed at the question and Flynn's skin started another round of sweating. At this rate he'd need a trip to the infirmary himself, for fluid replacement.

"Colonel Sheppard was seriously injured in the attack but is expected to make a full recovery. As to what he remembers, that's a matter of security and not for open discussion."

Flynn paled notably being faced with such an implied threat and his Adam's apple bobbed drunkenly. If Sheppard had got even a glimpse of him before he'd struck...

"Y-yes, sir, and I hope the colonel will be alright. Is there anything else, sir?"

"I need you to write this down as a statement and bring it back to me when you've signed it. That's all for now but naturally you are not to discuss this outside this room. Specialist Dex, have you anything further to add at this time?"

"Just a warning. When I find the man who did this, there'll be no place for him to hide. I'll tear him limb from limb." He turned to Flynn and bared his teeth. "And you can share _that_ with anyone who asks."

Flynn nodded, only too glad that a verbal response didn't seem to be expected. He wanted out of that office as soon as possible before his body language betrayed him any further.

Lorne seemed satisfied.

"That's all for now but we may need to speak to you again. In the meantime, if you _do_ recall anything that may help, be sure to come here straight away."

Flynn scuttled out of the room as soon as Ronon cleared the doorway leaving the two men behind to discuss things further.

00oo00

"So, you said the lights were on in the corridor when you saw them up ahead, which means they'd responded to Sheppard's being there. What I need the colonel to remember is whether they were on _before_ he got there. Is our assailant a gene-carrier or not? It's a paltry thing but at least it'll let us eliminate some people from our enquiries." Lorne sighed and ran his hand over his short hair. "I don't mind telling you, this isn't going to be easy. Flynn's account could be full of holes or it could be true, and short of a lie-detector test we've no way of telling."

"Leave me alone with him for ten minutes and I'll get you the truth."

"Yes, I've read the reports of how you questioned Kavanagh but we can't go around acting like the Gestapo." He noted the quizzical expression on Ronon's face and sighed again. Sometimes it was too easy to forget that they were in an alien galaxy with honest-to-God living, breathing _aliens._ "Okay, for Gestapo read Genii, read Kolya. Get the picture?"

"Yeah, but I'm not in your military. I can take him apart and put him back together and you won't even see the join."

"We'll see how the colonel's doing first before I let you loose on what _might_ be an innocent man."

TBC - reviews would be appreciated.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter ten_

The man in question was grouchy and in pain but refusing to admit it. He was sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of the infirmary bed, his left arm clutching at the elbow of his plastered right in support, in spite of the sling. Carson had catalogued his injuries for him and he knew he'd got off relatively light. It didn't stop things hurting, though.

Foolhardiness had him sitting up when all he really wanted to do was crawl into a dark corner and lick his wounds. Still, he'd never been one to do that so he wasn't about to start now.

Any colour he might have had in his face had long since disappeared and to a close observer a sheen of sweat could be seen on the colonel's forehead and top lip. He attempted to stop the room from tilting and whirling as he took slow, deep breaths, and was about to congratulate himself on his success when a distinctly disapproving Scottish roar almost unbalanced him and sent him crashing to the floor.

"What d'ye think you're doin' Colonel? Did I tell ye you were ready to get out of that bed? Have ye learned nothing in the countless times you've graced us with your presence here?" Carson had moved into John's personal space and was menacingly close, pointing an irate finger in his face. "Ye leave when _I_ say so, and not before. Now, back into bed with ye before ye do a face plant."

Sheppard had to lean back slightly to create a gap between him and the simmering Scot.

"Doc, I have to get moving again, you should know me by now. All I need is a hand to get steady and some clothes and I'll get out of your way," he whined in his own practised way. He gesticulated, careful to not make any rash moves that might send him toppling, to several occupied beds around his own. "Things seem to be a bit busy around here so you don't need me under your feet when I can quite adequately recuperate in my own quarters."

"If I thought for one minute that you'd do that, recuperate quietly in your room, I'd show ye tae the door myself, but past experience has taught me not tae be such a fool. You'll be off sparrin' with Teyla or Ronon or turnin' things on for Rodney just because you're too bloody bored to gie your body half a chance tae mend. There're only so many times I can put ye back together again, Colonel. Your name isnae Humpty Dumpty."

A not-so-quiet snort of laughter greeted that statement as McKay sidled up to the two verbally sparring men, a wide grin splitting his face.

"The number of times he's fallen off the wall and you've _had_ to put him back together again, that would make you one of the King's horses, right?"

"Rodney, you're nae helpin'. I'm tryin' tae tell the colonel he's nae ready tae be leaving and I can do without your Vaudeville routine, thank ye. Now, Colonel, let's get ye settled before ye lose your lunch again. Rodney, shift your carcass and let him swing his legs up outta the way, man."

John was just thankful that he'd progressed to scrub bottoms and not the all-too-revealing hospital gown or McKay would have got quite an eyeful as he reluctantly swung his legs back to horizontal. If the truth was to be told he didn't really feel quite ready for the walk back to his quarters but the escape attempt would have been anticipated and after all, he had a reputation to maintain.

He closed his eyes as the room did another nauseating loop and wondered at how easily a trained fighter pilot could lose his sense of balance. When he got his hands on whoever had landed him in the infirmary, he might just let Ronon off the leash, as he'd suggested. Right after he took a poke at him, himself.

A straw nudged at his lips and he parted them gratefully and took a long draught of blessedly cool water. He opened his eyes, fully expecting to see Carson or one of the nurses and was taken aback to see Rodney's hairy arm at the end of the tumbler.

"Thanks," he murmured, before looking slowly around the room. "Where are Ronon and Flynn? I thought he was bringing him here for questioning?"

"He was," Rodney leant forward conspiratorially. "But the Tartan Terror refused to let you question _anyone_ until you managed to keep something in your stomach. The rate you've been heaving it's a wonder you've any stomach lining left."

"Thanks for that," John muttered, feeling more than a little queasy again.

Carson had moved off to check on the nearest patient, muttering all the while about '_heidstrong patients who ought tae know better'_ and casting a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure that Rodney hadn't drowned their military commander. John waved a weary hand at him to acknowledge that the doctor had been right and that he wasn't planning escape attempt number two...just yet. Maybe he'd give it a go when the furniture stopped doing the Macarena.

Marshalling his woolly thoughts into place he turned to the smartest man he knew.

"So, McKay, have you sorted this out yet? Flynn…what did you dig up about him?"

"I knew the name rang a bell with me but I needed to read my own accident report before it came back. Do you remember a few weeks ago when I got my hands burned in the lab?"

John's memory of things older than 24 hours was working fine and he nodded his head, only to pale rapidly as the action woke up the construction workers from their lunch break and they started in again with renewed vigour on his skull.

"Stop doing that, would you? I'm running out of footwear that you haven't puked over." McKay was also rapidly running out of bedside manners.

"Sorry. I'll just lie here and you talk to me. Tell me about Flynn, and Rodney, if you could keep it to words of less than three syllables for now, my head would really appreciate it."

"What's so different about _now_?"

"McKay…just spill it!"

"Okay, okay, keep your shirt…er…scrubs on. Flynn's name got me thinking why I should remember one grunt any more than another so I did a search for his name on my computer and up he popped in the report on my accident."

"Go on."

"Yes, yes, gloss over my own injuries, why don't we?" McKay gave a long-suffering sigh but when the remark failed to produce a satisfactory snark from the man on the bed he swallowed his disappointment and continued. "Flynn was the stupid oaf who knocked that ancient device onto the floor and made me grab for it without protection. But there was something nagging at the back of my mind about the accident, besides the excruciating pain I'd suffered, not to mention the very real potential for lasting impairment."

He paused to draw breath as he collected his thoughts of the event, not that it was something he'd ever forget.

John rolled his head in Rodney's direction. "McKay..."

"Yes, yes, try to cultivate even a pretence at patience, can't you? Well, as I was saying before the interruption...I remembered something weird had happened at the time of the accident, something I'd obviously have mentioned before now had it not been for the excruciating agony and the fact that Carson had doped me to the eyeballs. Afterwards, well, I must have forgotten, until now."

"Rodney, I swear you're getting more and more long-winded the older you get. Could you please just get to the point before I lose the will to live!"

"I've arrived," Rodney replied, smugly. "If you'd just keep your panties on...er...well, you're probably not wearing any, _not_ that I'm thinking about that, because I'm not, you know!"

"McKay, if I have to climb out of this bed and beat the information out of you..."

"Yeah, like you _could!_ In your present state the chef from the kitchens could beat you to a pulp with one hand while whipping up an omelette with the other. Anyway, calm down, it's bad for your blood pressure and then Carson will be over threatening my body with sharp implements.

"Now, where was I? Oh yes...just before I was whisked away to the infirmary I caught sight of a very odd look from Flynn. He just stood there looking at me, and he almost looked _happy_."

He paused for dramatic effect and wasn't disappointed when John eased open one eye and stared at him.

"So, I decided to cross-reference him against all other recent reports of accidents, not forgetting your own tango, and hey presto!"

John opened his other eye cautiously to glare at the smirking scientist who was sitting with his arms folded and that look of 'I-know-more-than-everyone' on his face.

"Don't make me sic Ronon on you, Rodney."

"Yes, alright, I was merely allowing for a suitably impressive build-up of suspense. Flynn features large, as far as I could see, in at least four reports of recent 'accidents'" and here he did the air quotes he was so fond of. "Our man Flynn has been a busy little marine, in the midst of mischief and mayhem wherever his shadow falls, but there's nothing more than circumstantial evidence at the moment, nothing you could actually accuse him of other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Or the _right_ place…"

The two men fell silent as they contemplated the evidence, or lack of it. Something about Flynn was eating at John's memory but all it was producing was another stellar headache so he gave up trying for now.

"Why didn't I see this?" he muttered.

"Well, who knows, maybe you _did_. Maybe you were running along, muttering about homicidal marines and out he popped from the shadows, and tried to bash your brains in."

"Why would he be skulking around at that time of the morning? Too risky! No, there's something itching at the back of my mind but I just can't reach it. It's so frustrating!" John slammed his good hand down onto the mattress in anger and Carson glanced over from several beds away.

"Rodney, are ye annoying ma patient? Dae I have tae threaten ye with the big needles tae go and leave the colonel in peace?"

Rodney waved his hand dismissively but he took a good look at his friend and the pain lines etched into his face, and sighed at the man's folly.

"Why don't you quit being Colonel Stoic and accept help? Carson knows what he's doing…well, as much as any sheepherder _can_ know," this said just loud enough to carry, "and I don't see any rhyme or reason to be in pain when you don't need to be."

"I'm fine, Rodney, but I think I'll take a nap. Come back later and we'll mull this over again, and Rodney…on no account are you to go anywhere with this without me, do I make myself clear? Do _not _approach Flynn, under any circumstances."

McKay's eyebrows did an aerobatic display. "What do you think I am, crazy? Of course I'm not going to do anything. Did you really think I was going to march up to some homicidal marine who could beat _me_ to a pulp and accuse him without backup?" He screwed his face into what Sheppard had learned to recognise not as a sign of constipation but rather, deep thought, and clicked his fingers rapidly. "Ronon, I need to find Ronon. See you later, Sheppard. Stay put."

"Woof!" John fired at his rapidly disappearing back as he rested his aching head back onto the pillow.

He worried some more at his missing memory, trying desperately to recall what, if anything, he'd decided about Flynn. Some of what Rodney had talked about, the fact that Flynn's name cropped up in so many instances, sparked a glimmer, but it also escalated his headache so he had to admit defeat and take a nap or accept medication. He preferred to allow his surfacing memory a clear path without the dulling effects of analgesia so he eased onto his good side and closed his eyes.

He just hoped his team mates wouldn't go pulling the limbs off a man who might be nothing more than perfectly innocent but rather unlucky. He didn't fancy having to explain _that_ to the SGC. The paper work that would engender would be a bitch!

TBC - once again, reviews would be much appreciated.


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks again for the kind reviews.

Congratulations to Barack Obama and the people of the United States for having the courage to embrace change and strive for something wonderful and new in electing their first African-American president. Let's hope he lives up to his promises.

_Chapter eleven_

Flynn had been on edge since leaving the major's office, jumping at every shadow and imagining the heavy hand of suspicion about to feel his collar. He half-expected Ronon to be thundering down the corridor after him, if the looks he'd been giving him were anything to go by. The mood the big man had been in, Flynn reckoned he wouldn't stop to listen.

Rational thought raised its mitts in the air and tried to tell him enough was enough and to quit his campaign before he got any deeper in the mire. But it gave up because it had long since parted company with Barry Flynn, having failed to get an unbiased hearing.

Now, his all-encompassing thoughts were of revenge against the man he saw as responsible for his lack of prowess with ancient technology, namely one Carson Beckett. He was sure Beckett had fouled up on the gene transfer, there could be no other rational reason. And if Beckett was such a lousy doctor then Barry Flynn was doing the expedition a huge favour. They'd thank him, in the end.

He found himself striding towards the infirmary, a half-baked notion in his head of dragging the doctor out of the infirmary at gunpoint and wreaking all manner of horrible revenge on the man. The fact that he didn't actually _have_ a gun hadn't registered with his plans.

He was close to the doors when he saw an armed guard standing at attention outside the closed doors. He pondered the marine's presence there for a moment before the horrible truth hit him that _he_ was responsible for the guard's presence. If he hadn't attacked their CO and laid him up in the infirmary there wouldn't have been any need for a guard to be there.

He turned on his heels and stomped off in a random direction, his plans askew. He needed to separate Beckett from the infirmary and most definitely away from armed men. For this, he would need to rethink his plans and find himself a lure.

He heard a voice coming from behind him and ducked into a convenient doorway just in time to hear Dr McKay's irritating whine as he passed.

"No, it can't wait, Conan. When I say I need to see you, I mean _now._ Put down whichever marine you're currently bashing to a pulp...oh, well, okay so you and Lorne were talking. Time for talking's past. It's time for action now...oh, funny, I don't _need_ to be an action man, that's what I have you and Sheppard for. Meet me in the gate room immediately. We need to work out a plan. Flynn's got some answering to do."

The man being talked about stepped out silently behind the whining scientist and waited until he'd finished talking on his radio before moving closer and bringing the heel of his hand down onto the soft neck in front of him. That would teach the annoying scientist to go talking about people behind their back. Flynn snickered at his own perceived wit.

McKay gave barely a whimper and slipped to the floor in a boneless heap and Flynn scooped him quickly and with some effort over his shoulder before ducking back into the empty room. How this unfit man ever managed to keep up with away teams he'd never guess.

He knew from past experience that McKay would be out for about ten minutes, minutes that gave Flynn time to find something with which to restrain, and most importantly, gag his prisoner.

The last thing he wanted to do was listen to McKay as he complained about his treatment.

He made sure the man wasn't readily visible should anyone else pop into the otherwise unused room and scurried to his own billet. At least if anyone _did_ find McKay there was nothing to point the finger at him.

With heart threatening to burst from his throat he made his way back to the room with a few extras tucked into his pocket, thankfully having encountered no-one. He wanted dearly to be able to call at the armoury and sign out a sidearm but that would raise too many questions when he wasn't actually about to go on a mission...at least not one that was _official! _

For a crazy moment he thought about going to the colonel's quarters and getting _his_ sidearm but then he told himself he'd have too much difficulty explaining it if he was caught. He could just imagine their faces if he'd said the colonel had asked him to bring him his gun.

'_To the infirmary, soldier? Do I LOOK stupid?'_ he could just imagine Lorne shouting at him.

He'd had to make do with a trip through the mess hall, and grabbed a steak knife. He was winging this as he went.

McKay was starting to stir as he stepped back into the room and before he could properly regain consciousness Flynn gagged and bound him with ruthless efficiency. The ropes were probably tighter than strictly necessary but he was past caring. Speed was of the essence and it was McKay's misfortune that he had happened past when he did.

Any lure would have done but that it was the chief scientist would add even more credence to his request that Beckett attend in person.

He plucked McKay's radio from his head and settled it into position over his own before placing his call.

"Dr Beckett, please respond. This is a medical emergency."

A slight pause caused him to fret before the soft brogue let him know he'd made contact.

"This is Beckett. Who am I talkin' tae?"

"Just one of the marines, doctor, but you need to come quickly. I've found Dr McKay unconscious near the water desalination plant and I'm afraid to move him. I think he might have struck his head."

"Och, what's the ninny done now? Okay, lad, stay with him and dinnae move him, and if he wakens up, keep him still. I'll be there as soon as I can. Beckett out."

Flynn shut off the connection and grinned down at the dazed scientist who was trying to free his hands from behind his back, all the while muttering thickly through the gag.

"Sorry, doc. Can't hang about to play twenty questions. See you around."

He patted the furious man on the head before moving out of the room again, making sure the door closed behind him.

He had no time to waste now that he'd set up his trap. Beckett would be moving towards the plant and he needed to meet him half way to divert him. He was under no illusions that someone else would have overheard the conversation and be aware of where Beckett was headed.

He had no intention of telegraphing just exactly where he was going to take the doctor. The desalination plant had been a handy red herring and would hopefully send searchers in the wrong direction.

00oo00

Ronon paced back and forth in the gate room, creating enough static to power a small city and causing Zelenka's hair to stand on end even more than usual.

The smaller man could give no satisfactory answer as to why McKay was keeping the Satedan waiting and Ronon was rapidly running out of patience, a commodity that he didn't have a huge supply of in the first place.

He tapped his radio and called McKay again, still getting no response.

"Try locating annoying scientist through subdermal transmitter," Zelenka offered helpfully and was relieved to see the big man nod his tussled head.

The Czech wondered for a moment if he should grow _his_ hair into dreadlocks. It would be an interesting look. Perhaps the ladies would like it.

Chuck and Ronon poured over the readings until they had their answer. The signal was static and coming from a location close to the infirmary. As to why Rodney wasn't answering, or even why he'd insisted Ronon made his way _immediately_ and McKay was dilly-dallying, Ronon intended to find out.

The hard way, if necessary. He'd been cautioned against tackling Flynn and he was antsy and ready to haul off and hit someone. If Rodney didn't watch out, it might just be _him._

"Found him," Ronon growled as he stepped away from the bank of monitors and Radek grinned at the thought of the upcoming confrontation.

Rodney was one of the most impatient men Radek had ever had the misfortune to work with and if he was about to meet his match the small man just wished he could be there to see it. He wondered idly for a moment what Ronon's reaction would be if he tagged along, but sighed as he realised he'd experiments he was supposed to be supervising, and couldn't leave.

His fertile imagination and what he'd heard the marines refer to as 'scuttlebutt' would have to suffice.

00oo00

Five minutes later all thoughts of what he'd like to do to McKay had evaporated when Ronon burst through the door to discover his team mate bound and gagged and very red in the face.

One of his ubiquitous knives made short work of the ropes cruelly biting into the soft flesh of the other man's wrists and he sliced through the gag to the sounds of suffering.

"Ow, ow, ow! What did I do to that Neanderthal to have him do this to me? Doesn't he know my hands are very important, not to mention my brain? I could have irreparable damage and it's not that long since my own accident."

"McKay, who did it?" Ronon had to shake him to interrupt the flow of words.

Rodney cradled his throbbing hands to him as he looked up through welling tears.

"Flynn, who else? The man's practically a one-man commando squad. You'd better watch out, I think he's after your crown. If he's not causing accidents he's always in the vicinity but this time he's definitely behind assaulting me. I didn't see who hit me but when I came round he was here and he didn't release me."

"Where did he go?"

"Well, naturally he let me in on his Machiavellian plans. How would _I_ know where he's gone? Hopefully for a long walk off the nearest short pier, but somehow I doubt that. Help me up."

Ronon wanted nothing better than to be on the hunt for Flynn but McKay was groggy and his wrists were a mess so he helped the unsteady man to his feet and the short distance to the infirmary. He was relieved to see the marine still on guard at the door and the man spared them both a quizzical look as they passed through.

"Carson, a little help here," McKay called out, only to sigh in frustration when one of the other medics stepped forward to assess him. "Where's Beckett?"

"Not here right now, Dr McKay, but if you want, we can leave your injuries until he returns. Or you can come quietly and not disturb everyone else here and let me see to your wrists. The call's yours."

"Tetchy, much?" McKay moved away, grumbling mightily.

Ronon noted Sheppard stirring. He moved to the bedside and waited for his friend to gather himself together, noting that Sheppard was a better colour after his rest.

"Was that Rodney?"

"Yeah, he had a run in with Flynn who knocked him out and locked him in an empty room. I need to get looking for him and when I find him…"

"I _told_ him..." John left off whatever he was about to say, sighing in frustration. He turned his attention to the simmering volcano in front of him. "You'll do _nothing_, Ronon. This is a military matter and he'll get his day in court before he gets shipped back to Earth and court-marshalled. It won't do anyone any good if you kill the man, least of all you. Take Lorne and some men and round him up. Lock him in the holding cell until I can talk to him."

John watched as his friend moved off like a black cloud. He knew he had Ronon's full trust and co-operation nowadays but in the early days he wouldn't have been too sure that Flynn wasn't a dead man.

He lay on his bed, worrying at his elusive memories. Something was slowly emerging from the fog; he just needed to give it time. Something about a list he'd been writing. He closed his eyes and tried to picture Flynn's name on a sheet of paper.

Gasping in sudden recognition as his memory came back in glorious technicolour he quite clearly saw his own writing and Flynn's name circled heavily, and beside it he'd queried 'too many co-incidences? Common denominator?' Had he been thinking that Flynn was targeting people who had the gene?

He turned his attention to his other friend who was in the far corner of the infirmary having a light shone in his eyes and someone bathing his wrists.

Moving slowly in a covert attempt to catch the construction workers napping, John eased to a sitting position before sliding his legs over the edge of the bed. Happy to discover that nothing more disconcerting than a mild dizziness assailed him he continued the slide until his feet were planted on the cold floor.

Half expecting a Scottish bellow to be directed his way at any moment he contented himself with nothing more energetic than slithering his feet in the direction of the McKay whine. It was like a homing beacon to lost souls.

"Rodney, what happened?"

Patient and attendants looked up, startled, at the unexpected arrival of another patient.

"Should you be up? You still look like death warmed up." McKay tried to pull his hand out of the nurse's grasp as she delicately picked at rope fibres embedded in his torn flesh.

One of her colleagues wisely planted a seat below Sheppard's ass before it hit the floor and he grinned gratefully at her before turning his attention back to McKay.

"So, fill me in."

"Do you remember who we were discussing before I left here?"

"Yeah…Flynn. Rodney, did I not expressly tell you _not_ to approach him?"

"Yes, yes, ignoring double negatives, but you didn't say anything about _him_ approaching me! I was minding my own business and the next thing I know he's got me tied up and gagged and patting me on the head like I'm his dog."

He yelped at a particularly vigorous tug from the forceps fishing for rope fibres. "Will you be careful?" The nurse glared back at him and he reluctantly set his wrists back onto the trolley before continuing his narrative.

"And then he _leaves me to die_ in some empty room that thankfully Ronon seemed to be able to find and now I'm here and who knows where that madman is. And where's Carson, anyway?"

McKay in full rant was a thing to behold.

John was beginning to wonder the same thing. It wasn't as if the doctor lived in the infirmary and there were perfectly good stand-ins for when he actually got some down time, but something about Beckett's absence was activating John's sixth sense.

Carla chose that moment to come out of the storeroom and notice the small cluster of people, one of whom she knew shouldn't be out of bed, and the other she'd last heard reported as being unconscious on the other side of the city.

"Colonel, what are you doing out of bed?" she scolded, but turned to the second man, knowing better than to expect a sensible answer from the first. "Dr McKay, you made good time getting here, although I'm surprised to see you awake. Is Dr Beckett around, I need to tell him something about Corporal Abbot's bloods."

Both men's response was eyebrow gymnastics and she thought over what she'd just said, looking for an explanation for the display.

"What do you mean, awake? Are you trying to be funny?" Rodney rose to the defensive.

John, however, had been watching the nurse's perplexed expression.

"What do you know about this, Carla?" John spoke softly but determinately, anxious for information but not wanting to scare the young nurse.

She looked around suddenly, seeking the comforting presence of the CMO, and when he didn't materialise she began to worry.

"Is there something wrong, Colonel? Dr Beckett got a call from a marine saying he'd found Dr McKay unconscious at the water desalination plant and the doctor grabbed his bag and ran out. He told us to send a team with a gurney and they left about five minutes after him." She checked her fob watch. "That must have been about fifteen minutes ago which is why I thought you'd made good time. It takes at least that length of time to get to the plant never mind getting back."

Pieces were falling into place like a jigsaw and John didn't care overly much for the picture.

"But I wasn't...I haven't..." Rodney puzzled the situation. He'd been nowhere near the water plant.

"Call the guard in, I need his radio," John interrupted.

He was starting to notice the infirmary blurring but he resolutely refused to give in to weakness now. If his suspicion about Flynn was right, Carson's absence was no accident and John wasn't about to let a paltry thing like a head injury keep him sidelined.

Carla noticed his growing pallor and pushed an emesis bowl under his chin as a precaution. He clutched onto it gratefully, but also hoping he wouldn't need it, whilst waiting for the guard.

He motioned for the man to hand over his radio and fumbled awkwardly with setting it on his head, left-handed, swallowing back the threatening bile as he set the basin down.

"Lorne, this is Sheppard. Respond." A brief pause and Lorne was replying. "Has Ronon met up with you yet?"

"Negative, sir. Is there something I should know?"

"Corporal Flynn's gone dark, Major. I think he's targeting ATA-carriers. I need you to track him down and restrain him. He may or not be heading in the direction of the water plant and keep an eye out for Dr Beckett. It's more than likely Flynn's got to him."

Rodney waved his free hand frantically to attract John's attention.

"Carson has the transmitter..."

John nodded and instantly regretted it, his face paling further. He took a couple of steadying breaths.

"Get them to track Beckett and you'll find them both. He was contacted by Flynn under a false pretext and something tells me the corporal doesn't want to discuss his health care package. Use whatever force is necessary to contain the situation but watch out for friendlies and keep me informed."

"Acknowledged, sir."

That was one of the things John admired about his XO: Lorne wasted no more words than Ronon and was as efficient at his job.

He turned his attention once again to the radio.

"Sheppard to Beckett, respond."

He watched the anxious expressions on the people around him as he waited for a reply. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath and he was aware that he was doing the same thing. Thirty seconds passed and he repeated the hail but to no avail. Wherever Beckett was, either Flynn was blocking his calls or he was no longer in a position to reply.

TBC - reviews, as always, most welcome.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: I have absolutely no idea about the subdermal transmitter I've heard referenced on the show and in other stories so what follows may be totally whacked. Please excuse my ignorance if I've got it wrong. I also have no idea if Carson's fitted with one, whereabouts on the body it's located, and whether it can be cut out. For the sake of the story I've decided it can be.

_Chapter twelve_

Flynn waited as patiently as he could at the transporter that was one jump from the infirmary in the direction of the desalination plant. He knew Beckett would have to come this way and walk a short distance to another transporter, such was the sprawling nature of the city, so he anticipated his quarry stepping out any moment now.

The doors swooshed open and Beckett moved quickly into the corridor, intent on reaching his injured friend as swiftly as possible. He noted someone else in the corridor and greeted the man briefly with a nod before going to move past. He was startled, therefore, and more than a little cross to find his arm taken in a firm grip and his radio ruthlessly yanked from his head.

"What in tarnation d'ye think you're doing, lad? I have tae get tae an injured man and I cannae be standing around chatting with ye. Now, let me go and gae me back ma radio and we'll say nae more about this."

Flynn's response, and he was a little narked to note that the doctor didn't immediately recognise him, was to twist the other man's hand viciously between his shoulder blades, eliciting a pained gasp from Beckett. He bent forward to whisper menacingly in the doctor's ear.

"Don't fret yourself about McKay, Doctor. The only injured man you're going to be attending is yourself. Let's take a walk, shall we?"

Carson did his best to remove his arm from its painful position but whilst he was no five stone weakling he might as well have tried to fight off Ronon. The marine was strong and determined and Carson had to accept that he wasn't getting free any time soon. The sharp, unwelcome presence of a pointed object sticking into the back of his neck reinforced the need to stop struggling.

"What the hell's going on, Corporal..." he struggled to see the name on the uniform. "Flynn, is it? Son, what dae ye want tae be doing this for?"

"You don't even know who I am, do you?" Flynn was furious. "Just another lab rat failure to be cast aside onto the scrap heap. It's because of you that my life's worthless. You, do you hear?" He was almost screaming now.

Carson struggled to recall who this madman was. Had he muttered something about lab rats and failures?

It meant nothing to him. He'd been working on the Wraith virus and little else, recently, apart from the ongoing gene transfer but that was no longer an experiment, having been tried and tested on many recipients.

Unless this angry young man had been one of the failures...

Flynn's mind was in overdrive, trying desperately to control the situation. He'd never really sat down to plot out where he was taking this, knowing only that he wanted some form of retribution against Beckett for the failed treatment. He'd tried to camouflage the fact by working his way to his main target via some of the other gene holders.

A red mist had descended over his brain that fateful morning in the infirmary when Beckett had seemingly dismissed him as nothing more than a failed experiment. He'd thought of nothing else than lashing out at those with the gene, artificial or otherwise, but he'd never given room to serious thought of what he'd actually do to the doctor once he'd got him in his grasp.

"Son, ye have tae stop and think for a minute. D'ye seriously think ye can attack people in the city and not get caught?" A sudden chill ran down his back. "Was it _ye_ that attacked the colonel?"

Not getting any response from the soldier, Carson assumed he was correct. He was doing his best to keep pace with the angry strides of the marine holding him in his strong grip but he had to try to reason with him, too.

"Ye cannae go around attacking people just for the hell of it, especially Colonel Sheppard. Ye need help, son. Let me talk to the colonel. We'll arrange for ye to see Dr Heightm---"

"Shut up, just let me think."

Flynn chewed on his bottom lip as he hustled them through the corridors, and Carson prayed fervently for someone, _anyone_, to step their way. The normally bustling corridors seemed to be empty just when he longed for a crowd.

"Okay, you know, you're right. I can't go attacking people in the city."

Carson's hopes soared as he heard sense emanating from the man's mouth.

"Aye, lad, just stop and look at what you're doing. They'll track ye down before ye get much further and it would be better if ye just surrendered. That way ye can get the help ye obviously need."

"What do you mean, 'track me down'?" Flynn picked up on the words in a flash. "How is that possible?"

"The subdermal transmit..." Carson's brain suddenly caught up with his mouth and realised he'd just opened a huge can of worms. "Er, nothing, I was forgetting ye dinnae have one, yet. You're safe enough."

"_I_ mightn't have one, but I bet _you_ do. All the time we've been out on our little stroll and they're probably tracking your every step. Where is it?"

"W-what?" Carson would have loved to control the stammer in his voice but he had a sinking feeling he knew where this conversation was leading, and he _really_ didn't want to go there.

"Stop messing with me, doc. I mean business. This transmitter you were about to spill the beans about. Now, it's probably planted under your skin, isn't it? So, unless you want me carving my initials all over your body, I suggest you come clean."

Instinct had Carson clutch at the site of the transmitter and Flynn's eyes gleamed in victory.

Flynn sneered at the terrified man. "It's okay, doc. This way's better. I just need that transmitter and then you and I can take a trip, away from interference. You can fly the jumpers, right? So, we take a ride _out_ of the city and you and I have a little tête-à-tête somewhere we won't be disturbed. Come on."

00oo00

"_Colonel, this is Lorne. We're at the water plant and there's no sign of Flynn or the doc."_

Sheppard had been helped back to bed, still clutching the thankfully empty emesis bowl, but his head was pounding and the room refused to stop tilting and swooping. Carla had tried unsuccessfully to remove the radio but Sheppard held it in a death grip.

"Hang on, Major, I'll check something else." John turned to McKay who was sitting on an easy chair at his bedside. "Rodney, have they traced Carson's subdermal transmitter signal?"

"Well, _I_ don't know," he responded waspishly, but not without concern for their missing friend. "Flynn took my radio and much as people expect me to know everything, I don't. Check with control."

Sheppard keyed his radio again. "Sheppard to Control."

"_Control here, Colonel, it's good to hear your voice."_

A second voice came over the airwaves. "_John, it's Elizabeth. Does Carson know you're using the radio?"_

"Elizabeth, when we get him back safe and sound he can chew me out all he wants. Right now I need your people to locate Beckett's transmitter signal and relay it to Major Lorne and myself. One of the marines has taken him hostage."

"_Hostage?"_

Elizabeth's elegant eyebrows soared and she moved away from the console as Chuck stood to cross to another bank of equipment. She watched as his hands flew over the dials before he gave a triumphant smile.

"Dr Beckett is moving in the general direction of the east pier, ma'am."

Elizabeth keyed the radio again. "_John, Major Lorne, Carson's signal is moving in the direction of the east pier. Is there anything I can do from here?"_

"Lock down the jumper bay roof and the gate in case he decides to head there," John responded. "We don't know what Flynn's got planned for Carson but we need to keep them within the city. Lorne, we don't know if Flynn's armed but if you get there first don't let him get away. Under no circumstances is he to be allowed to leave Atlantis with Beckett. Use whatever force is necessary, short of a kill shot."

McKay was listening to Sheppard's side of the conversation at the same time as he noted that the man was edging to the floor again, holding onto the mattress as he steadied himself.

"Where do you think you're going, Sheppard? You can't seriously be contemplating going after this maniac? You can barely stand without hurling."

"Shut up and help me, Rodney. This is one of _my_ men threatening a friend. Do you honestly think I can just sit back and leave it to someone else to sort out the mess? Come on, **help** me here."

Rodney accepted that to try to talk Sheppard out of his proposed actions was like trying to hold back the tide. Careful of his own bandaged wrists he slipped his shoulder under Sheppard's left arm and held the man steady until his knees locked.

"This is stupid, even by your standards. Neither one of us should be leaving the infirmary and mark my words, Carson will chew you up and spit you out for risking your health over his. Now come on before you fall over and drag me down, too. I've suffered enough today. I don't fancy having you land on top of me, skinny though you are."

The marine who had been at the door managed _almost_ successfully to control his features as the two men staggered past him drunkenly, one of them his CO, barefoot and wearing a natty white pair of hospital scrubs.

"Sir? Is there something I can do for you?"

He'd heard only part of the story as he'd listened to the colonel tracking his people.

"Tag along, Sergeant. We may well need you to scrape Sheppard off the floor before this day is out," Rodney snarked before John could get his mouth working.

00oo00

Carson deeply regretted those few words he'd uttered about the transmitter. If only he'd kept his mouth shut he might have got away with it. And he probably wouldn't now be staggering along with a bloodied arm throbbing with every step.

Flynn had dragged him to the nearest empty room and given him a simple choice. Either he removed the transmitter under his own trained hands or Flynn would remove it for him. For good measure Flynn had waggled the steak knife under his nose.

Before that they'd been making good time through the city and only once had they encountered other people, some of the botanists moving towards their labs. Carson had got as far as taking a deep breath in preparation for a plea for help when the knife sticking into his neck was moved to his side and pressed quite definitively.

He knew immediately, from the warmth spreading over his flesh, that it had drawn blood and it had stolen his breath away.

"Do you want to die here and now, Doctor?" Flynn had whispered menacingly. "I can just push this a little harder and puncture something vital. The call's yours."

His hands were sweating profusely and he was having some difficulty in holding onto the knife but his voice didn't give Carson any indication of this.

To Carson, the man wielding the knife was a cold, ruthless marine who would have no compunction in following through with his threats. If the people near him had been military rather than civilian he might have taken his chances but what could some soft botanists do against an armed marine other than get themselves hurt?

So he had let the people pass with nothing more than a friendly hello and they'd moved on again towards their goal. Carson's only hope had been that someone was keeping track of where he was heading.

Now, as he clutched at his bleeding arm, hastily bandaged after his rudimentary surgery on himself, he wished with all his heart he'd just kept his damned mouth shut.

TBC - reviews, as always, would be much appreciated.


	13. Chapter 13

Well, this is the final chapter. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing. Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, and if you come across this tale in the future and would like to review, please do so.

_Chapter thirteen_

Sheppard felt more than a little unwell as they tottered through the corridors. He tuned out the startled looks he was getting from anyone crossing his path and concentrated grimly on successfully placing one bare foot in front of the other. He was _not _going to do a face plant, because that would hurt too much.

He shrugged off Rodney's support and was managing to remain almost upright by sheer willpower alone but he knew his reserves were low. The lights in the corridors were dimming and fading and Rodney's concerned voice sounded funny. He only hoped that when they caught up with Flynn he could find a nice comfy seat and collapse into it, leaving Lorne and Ronon to do all the energetic stuff.

"_Colonel Sheppard, please report to Control."_

The sudden noise in his earpiece almost sent him crashing to the floor. He stopped to lean against the wall.

"Go ahead."

"_Colonel, Dr Beckett's transmitter signal has been located in a stationary position. What are your orders?"_

Control gave him Beckett's location and he realised he was too far away to be able to be effective.

"Lorne, Ronon, how close are you?"

"_We can be there in minutes, Colonel."_

"Take him down, Lorne. Use minimal force but secure that soldier."

"_Yes, sir. We'll report when we have him. Lorne, out."_

00oo00

Lorne, Ronon and three marines approached the room as silently as shadows. The door was closed but Control had assured them that Dr Beckett was still inside.

Lorne signalled his men into position and then Ronon kicked the door open, aiming high as Lorne aimed low and they moved into the room in a tightly controlled manoeuvre.

It was an empty space, not having been assigned a use by the expedition, but also void of their target.

"Control, the room's empty. Confirm Dr Beckett's location."

"_Confirmation, Major. Dr Beckett should be standing right in front of you."_

"Well, he's _not_! Care to explain?"

Lorne was more than a little frustrated. He'd been keyed up to taking down their target and the adrenaline rush hadn't yet abated.

"Lorne," Ronon rumbled, and Evan turned in his direction, only to recoil in revulsion.

Ronon's fingers dripped red as he held up a transmitter that had very obviously recently been cut from someone. The blood hadn't yet coagulated.

"Control, never mind. Patch me through to the colonel."

00oo00

John's heart had grown cold at the news from Lorne. He'd hoped they could catch up to Flynn before he harmed the doctor but the barbarism the marine had displayed at the savage removal of the transmitter had changed that.

"Control...Sheppard, give me city-wide."

"_Acknowledged, Colonel. Go ahead."_

"Attention all personnel, this Colonel Sheppard. Corporal Barry Flynn is to be apprehended immediately. He's taken Dr Beckett hostage. Report all sightings directly to me. He is to be considered armed and dangerous and must not be approached by members of the scientific community. I repeat, he must not be approached by anyone other than military. Sheppard out!"

In the silent corridors Flynn flinched when he heard the transmission. The speaker had surprised him, too. He'd thought Sheppard out of the fight.

Carson's hopes, along with his eyebrows, soared. The colonel's voice was the last he'd expected to hear, but still, if the man was up to organising a manhunt, he, for one, wasn't about to object.

"See, doc, the colonel's not that badly hurt if he's looking for us," Flynn jeered. "You worry too much."

"Lad, if the colonel's doing anything more than lying flat on his back I'll be doing more than worrying about him. But ye have tae see, the odds against ye are too great. Give it up, now. Half the city's going tae be on your tail."

"When we're this close to the jumper bay? Not likely. Keep moving, doc."

00oo00

The ruse with the transmitter had effectively separated the search parties and Lorne and Ronon were as much at a loss now as anyone else. Flynn hadn't exactly left them a clue as to his destination.

Sheppard had decided to head for the jumper bay, reasoning that Flynn would know by now that he was a wanted man, a cornered rat, and cornered rats tried to kill or run. He just hoped the man would take the second option.

They were much closer to the jumper bay than the others, which was John's main reason for being on his feet in the first place, but he knew Ronon and Lorne wouldn't dilly-dally. _If_ they knew where to look.

The jumpers all sat in their berths, seemingly uncompromised when the three men turned into the bay. John held up his hand and the party came to a halt as they strained to listen for voices.

Their silence was rewarded.

"I cannae make them open the roof, son. They've shut it doon and locked it. I can try going out through the gate but they might already have locked the shield on that. And you'll need tae give me some co-ordinates first. We cannae just fly out anywhere!"

Flynn's response was to dig the knife tip into Carson's side a little harder and the doctor's world greyed and tipped suddenly as he felt more of his blood staining the top of his pants.

"You're not helping yourself, Flynn. If ye want me tae fly this thing out of here I need tae be conscious. Sticking that thing intae me isnae helping. If I lose any more blood ye'll be flying this thing on your own."

John listened to the words with growing alarm. Carson's voice held just enough of a tremor for him to know that his friend was nearing the end of his nerve and the time for action was here and now.

"So, just get on with it. Take it down to the gate room and we'll decide when we get there! If they've raised the shield we'll threaten them with a drone."

Carson willed the small craft to remain unresponsive, more than he'd willed any ancient tech in his life. Back in Antarctica Rodney had bullied and coerced him into the control chair and he'd tried to make _something_ work, with interesting results. Now, he pleaded with the jumper to stay quiescent.

"Why isn't it working? What are you doing?!" Flynn screamed in his ear.

"It's mostly mental, son. The craft responds tae the pilot and it must know I'm in nae state tae fly it. Ye shouldnae have cut me. You need someone who's a pilot, not me."

"Sure, what do you suggest? That I go to the infirmary and drag Sheppard here and make _him_ fly me out? I can just see his face. Come on, get out of that chair."

Mutterings and movement alerted the men on the outside that those inside the craft were on their way out.

Having heard his own name mentioned, John reckoned he'd been given a personal invitation to this party, and he was never one to refuse a personal invitation.

Without thought of his own safety he launched himself through the opened rear hatch of the jumper and threw himself at the marine holding the knife to Carson's side.

Corporal, doctor and colonel fell to the floor in a maelstrom of legs and arms and barely controlled anger before the watching men could form conscious thought.

Carson dragged himself away from the melee, gazing around dazedly and spotting Rodney and a gawping soldier. Why the ninny dinnae help the colonel, Carson couldn't fathom.

"Well, somebody help him!" he shouted.

"Sheppard, watch out for the knife," McKay managed and was suddenly shoved aside as the marine with him wakened to the danger to his CO.

He laid into the scene with commendable enthusiasm, cursing as Flynn's knife sliced his upper arm, before managing to drag the swearing, foam-flecked man off his CO.

It took little effort on his part to disarm Flynn and hold him in a vicious arm lock, all fight seeming to have left him like air from a punctured balloon.

That just left Carson and McKay to watch and wait for Sheppard to pick himself off the floor. When he failed to do so, both men stooped over him, concerned.

"Colonel? Are ye alright?" Carson sank to his knees before he found himself stretched out beside the patient he'd last seen in an infirmary bed. His world was starting to grey at the edges.

The colonel's white scrubs were, disconcertingly, liberally daubed with red.

"I will be," Sheppard moaned as he rolled onto his back, his left arm and hand bleeding profusely and the cast on his right arm sadly battered and blood-stained.

"Aye, daft bugger, ye could have been killed. And what you're doing out of bed anyway I'd like tae know."

Rodney grabbed some bandages from Carson's first aid kit and wrapped Sheppard's lacerations as tightly as he could. The arm wouldn't take more than a few stitches but the hand was a gory mess.

Carson was pale and swaying, even when on his knees and his arm was a bloody mess, but he still managed to berate his patient.

"I cannae take ma eyes of ye for a second. You've got a right mess, there. I'd bet good money you've surgery in your immediate future. I'll need tae replace that cast, for one." The doctor shook his head, carefully. "Ach, you'd nae business doing anything more energetic than lying on your scratcher in the infirmary!"

Sheppard gave a patented half-smile as he fought the blurring in his vision. He knew he wasn't going back under his own steam but to hear even an angry Carson, or two, was worth the trouble it had caused.

He concentrated on reducing the kind face bending over him to just one.

"Just looking out for a friend, Carson. That'll always be my business."

00oo00

"Come on, Carson, I can't do a thing with _both_ arms in slings. Take this off." John knew he was whining but he couldn't help it. He hated losing his independence.

As Carson had predicted he'd needed surgery to repair damage to the tendons in his hand and that arm was now heavily bandaged and in high elevation.

Both Beckett and McKay were grinning at his expression as he examined the state of his incapacity.

"That's exactly how I want it, Colonel. When I left here ye were in nae condition tae be out of bed never mind haring all over the city and then throwing yerself intae harm's way. You're just lucky the damage tae your hand isnae permanent, because it could have been. The next time I tell ye you're tae stay put, maybe you'll listen."

McKay snorted as he grinned at Sheppard's crestfallen expression. He was just waiting patiently for when the colonel needed to visit the _little_ _pilots'_ room and then he'd sic that battleaxe on _him._

They all knew that Beckett had their best interests at heart, and that for all his shouting he really did mean well, but Rodney was just glad the sheepherder hadn't turned on _him._

"And _ye_ needn't think I dinnae know ye'd a hand in this, Rodney," Carson rounded on the startled physicist. "The pair of ye'll have me in an early grave afore long, mark ma words." He whipped back to the grinning soldier. "Now, Colonel, here's your pain killers. Take them or I swear I'll have Ronon come and force-feed them to ye."

He handed over a small glass of pills just as the infirmary doors opened to admit Elizabeth, Teyla and Ronon.

"Why do _I_ have to feed him?" Ronon rumbled and Rodney snorted again.

"John, are you well?" Teyla ignored the grumbling giant and snorting scientist as she examined her team leader who was looking more than a little frayed around the edges.

"I'm fine, Teyla. Hey! I saw that," Sheppard whined as he saw her adopt a patented McKay eye-roll at his words.

These people were starting to pick up some very bad habits from each other.

"What's going to happen to Rambo?" Rodney wanted to know.

"I asked Kate to do a psych analysis on him and preliminary indications are that he's got paranoid tendencies, perhaps even a paranoid personality disorder," Elizabeth sighed as she approached her 2IC's bed. "I guess not everyone can cope with being out here. He'll be shipped back home under heavy guard and more than likely end up in a mental institution but Kate's hopeful he can respond favourably to the right sort of help."

"Typical!" Rodney snarled. "After the hell he puts us through _he _gets a cushy spell in a psychiatric institution instead of hard labour."

"Rodney, I know my time in a psychiatric hospital wasn't real, but it was real enough for me to know that he's by far not getting an easy option. If the man's mentally ill, he needs all the help he can get," Elizabeth scolded.

She would be old and grey before she forgot how scared she'd been during what she thought had been a real mental breakdown induced by the nanites.

She examined her military commander for herself, having received Carson's assurance that he wasn't in any danger. Certainly, he looked reasonably whole in spite of his heroics but this man would give her premature grey hair.

John nodded sympathetically at her. She'd unburdened some of what she'd experienced during that time and he knew she still had nightmares about it.

She turned to her CMO who was sporting his own sling and heavily bandaged arm.

"Carson, are _you_ alright?"

"Aye, I'm _fine_, lass," which was greeted with gales of laughter and the good doctor had the grace to blush before joining in. "Aye, I knew you lot were bound tae affect me afore long. I'll probably develop a tendency tae throwing myself in front of every madman that comes intae the infirmary, now.

"Anyway, Jennifer stitched ma arm as good as new but the next time I have tae tell someone that their genetic manipulation's a bust, maybe I could have a body guard. Or get Rodney tae do it for me!"

END


End file.
